THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THL   EUROPEAN   LIBRARY 

EDITED  BY  J.   E.   SPINGARN 


THE 

[EUROPEAN] 
V  LIBRARY/ 


Herr  Was 
Saw*  Gen 


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:i  m  P  o  • .  x  . 

has    q  entu 

j  equale  Virgil 

very  ii;  '   La- 

rive3   1  ,  '''at  ' 

Lrlnor   V,  ,^o 

Id  ed  •>, 


THE   WORLD'S 
ILLUSION 


BY 


JACOB  WAS5ERMANN 


AUTHORIZED  TRANSLATION  BY 
LUDW1GLEW1SOHN 


THE  FIRST  VOLUME: 

EVA 


NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  HOWE 
1920 


The  title  of  this  novel  in  the  original  is  "Christian  Wahnschaffe." 
The  title  adopted  for  this  translation  has  been  approved  by  the  author. 


COPYRIGHT,    IQ2O,    BY 
HARCOURT,    BRACE    AND    HOWE,    INC. 


THE   QUINN    ft    BODEN    COMPANY 
RAHWAY.    N.    J 


College 
Library 

PT 


v.  I 

CONTENTS  OF  THE  FIRST  VOLUME 

PAGE 

Crammon,  the  Stainless  Knight  I 

Christian's  Rest  X5 

The  Globe  on  the  Fingertips  of  an  Elf  46 

An  Owl  on  Every  Post  87 

Or  Ever  the  Silver  Cord  Be  Loosed  *43 

The  Naked  Feet  2°9 

Karen  Engelschall  29<> 


1265699 


THE  WORLD'S  ILLUSION 

CRAMMON,  THE  STAINLESS  KNIGHT 


FROM  the  days  of  his  earliest  manhood,  Crammon,  a  pilgrim 
upon  the  paths  of  pleasantness  and  delight,  had  been  a  con- 
stant-wayfarer from  capital  to  capital  and  from  country-seat 
to  country-seat.  He  came  of  an  Austrian  family  whose  landed 
estates  lay  in  Moravia,  and  his  full  name  was  Bernard 
Gervasius  Crammon  von  Weissenfels. 

In  Vienna  he  owned  a  small  but  beautifully  furnished  house. 
Two  old,  unmarried  ladies  were  its  guardians — the  Misses 
Aglaia  and  Constantine.  They  were  his  distant  kinswomen, 
but  he  was  devoted  to  them  as  to  sisters  of  his  blood,  and  they 
returned  his  affection  with  an  equal  tenderness. 

On  an  afternoon  in  May  the  two  sat  by  an  open  window  and 
gazed  longingly  down  into  the  street.  He  had  announced  the 
date  of  his  arrival  by  letter,  but  four  days  had  passed  and  they 
were  still  waiting  in  vain.  Whenever  a  carriage  turned  the 
corner,  both  ladies  started  and  looked  in  the  same  direction. 

When  twilight  came  they  closed  the  window  and  sighed. 
Constantine  took  4glaia's  arm,  and  together  they  went  through 
the  charming  rooms,  made  gleamingly  ready  for  their  master. 
All  the  beautiful  things  in  the  house  reminded  them  of  him, 
just  as  every  one  of  them  was  endeared  to  him  because  it  united 
him  to  some  experience  or  memory. 

Here  was  the  chiselled  fifteenth  century  goblet  which  the 
Marquis  d'Autichamps  had  given  him,  yonder  the  agate  bowl 
bequeathed  him  by  the  Countess  Ortenburg.  There  were  the 
coloured  etchings,  part  of  the  legacy  of  a  Duchess  of  Gains- 


2  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

borough,  the  precious  desk-set  which  he  had  received  from  the 
old  Baron  Regamey,  the  Tanagra  figurines  which  Felix  Imhof 
had  brought  him  from  Greece.  There,  above  all,  was  his  own 
portrait,  which  the  English  artist  Lavery  had  painted  on  an 
order  from  Sir  Charles  MacNamara. 

They  knew  these  things  and  esteemed  them  at  their  true 
worth.  They  stopped  before  his  picture,  as  they  so  often  de- 
lighted to  do.  The  well  rounded  face  wore  a  stern,  an  almost 
sombre  expression.  But  that  expression  seemed  deceptive,  for 
a  tell-tale  gleam  of  worldly  delight,  of  irony  and  roguishness, 
played  about  the  clean-shaven  lips. 

When  night  fell  the  two  ladies  received  a  telegram  inform- 
ing them  that  Crammon  had  been  forced  to  put  off  his  return 
home  for  a  month.  They  lit  no  lights  after  that,  and  went 
sadly  to  bed. 

n 

Once  it  had  happened  that  Crammon  was  dining  with  a  few 
friends  at  Baden-Baden.  He  had  just  returned  from  Scotland 
where  he  had  visited  the  famous  trout  streams  of  MacPherson, 
and  had  left  the  train  at  the  end  of  a  long  journey.  He  felt 
very  tired,  and  after  the  meal  lay  down  on  a  sofa  and  felj 
asleep. 

His  friends  chatted  for  a  while,  until  his  deep  breathing 
drew  their  attention  to  him,  and  they  decided  to  perpetrate 
a  jest  at  his  expense.  One  of  them  shook  him  by  the  shoulder, 
and  when  he  opened  his  eyes  asked:  "Listen,  Bernard,  can't 
you  tell  us  what  is  the  matter  with  Lord  Darlington?  Where 
is  he?  Why  is  he  never  heard  of  any  more?  " 

Crammon  without  a  moment's  hesitation  answered  in  a 
clear  voice  and  with  an  almost  solemn  seriousness:  "  Darling- 
ton is  on  his  yacht  in  the  Bay  of  Liguria  between  Leghorn  and 
Nice.  What  time  is  it?  Three  o'clock?  Then  he  is  just  about 
to  take  the  sedative  which  his  Italian  physician,  Magliano, 
prepares  and  gives  him." 


CRAMMON,   STAINLESS  KNIGHT       3 

He  turned  on  his  other  side  and  slept  on. 

One  of  the  men,  who  knew  Crammon  only  slightly,  said: 
"  That's  a  pure  invention!  "  The  others  assured  the  doubter 
that  Crammon's  word  was  above  suspicion,  and  they  spoke 
softly  so  as  not  to  disturb  his  sleep. 

in 

On  another  occasion  Crammon  was  a  guest  on  an  estate  in 
Hungary,  and  planned  with  a  group  of  young  men,  who  were 
visiting  a  neighbouring  country-house,  to  attend  a  festivity  in 
the  next  town.  The  dawn  was  breaking  when  the  friends 
separated.  Crammon,  with  senses  slightly  dulled,  went  on 
alone  and  longed  for  the  bed  from  which  half  an  hour's  walk 
still  separated  him.  By  chance  he  came  upon  a  cattle  market 
crowded  with  peasants,  who  had  brought  in  their  cows  and 
calves  from  the  villages  around. 

The  crowd  brought  him  to  a  halt,  and  he  stopped  to  listen 
while  a  bull  was  being  offered  for  sale.  The  auctioneer  cried: 
"I  am  offered  fifty  crowns!  "  There  was  no  answer;  the 
peasants  were  slowly  turning  the  matter  over  in  their 
minds. 

Fifty  crowns  for  a  bull?  To  Crammon's  mind,  from  which 
the  wine  fumes  had  not  quite  faded,  it  seemed  remarkable,, 
and  without  hesitation  he  offered  five  crowns  more.  The 
peasants  drew  aside  respectfully.  One  of  them  offered  fifty-six; 
Crammon  bid  fifty-eight.  The  auctioneer  raised  his  three-fold 
cry;  the  hammer  fell.  Crammon  owned  the  bull. 

A  magnificent  beast,  he  said  to  himself,  and  felt  quite  satis- 
fied with  his  bargain.  But  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  pay, 
he  discovered  that  the  bidding  had  been  so  much  per  hundred 
weight,  and  since  the  bull  weighed  twelve  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,  he  was  required  to  pay  seven  hundred  and  twenty-five 
crowns. 

He  refused  angrily.  A  loud  squabble  followed ;  but  his  argu- 
ments were  useless.  The  bull  was  his  property.  But  he  had 


4  THE  WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

no  such  sum  of  money  on  his  person,  and  had  to  hire  a  man 
to  accompany  him  with  the  animal  to  his  friend's  house. 

He  strode  on  wretchedly  vexed.  The  man  followed,  drag- 
ging the  unwilling  bull  by  a  rope. 

His  host  helped  Crammon  out  of  his  embarrassment  by 
purchasing  the  bull,  but  the  incident  furnished  endless  amuse- 
ment to  the  whole  countryside. 

IV 

Crammon  loved  the  theatre  and  everything  connected  with 
it.  When  the  great  Marian  Wolter  died,  he  locked  himself  in 
his  house  for  a  week,  and  mourned  as  if  for  a  personal 
bereavement. 

During  a  stay  in  Berlin  he  heard  of  the  early  fame  of  Edgar 
Lorm.  He  saw  him  as  Hamlet,  and  when  he  left  the  theatre 
he  embraced  an  utter  stranger  and  cried  out:  "  I  am  happy!  " 
A  little  crowd  gathered. 

He  had  meant  to  stay  in  Berlin  three  days  but  remained 
three  months.  His  connections  made  it  easy  for  him  to  meet 
Lorm.  He  overwhelmed  the  actor  with  gifts — costly  bric-a- 
brac,  rare  books,  exquisite  delicacies. 

Every  morning,  when  Edgar  Lorm  arose,  Crammon  was 
there,  and  with  a  deep  absorption  watched  the  actor  at  his 
morning  tasks  and  his  gymnastic  exercises.  He  admired  his 
slender  stature,  his  noble  gestures,  his  eloquent  mimicry,  and 
the  perfection  of  his  voice. 

He  took  care  of  Lorm's  correspondence  for  him,  interviewed 
agents,  got  rid  of  unwelcome  admirers  of  either  sex.  He 
called  the  dramatic  reviewers  to  account,  and  in  the  theatre 
looked  his  rage  whenever  he  thought  the  applause  too  tepid. 
"  The  beasts  should  roar,"  he  said.  During  the  scene  in 
Richard  II  in  which  the  king  addresses  the  lords  from  the 
castle  wall,  his  enthusiasm  was  so  great  that  his  friend,  the 
Princess  Uchnina,  who  shared  his  box,  covered  her  face  with 
her  fan  to  escape  the  glances  of  the  public. 


CRAMMON,   STAINLESS   KNIGHT        5 

To  him  Lorm  was  in  very  truth  the  royal  Richard,  the 
melancholy  Hamlet,  Romeo  the  lover,  and  Fiesko  the  rebel. 
His  faith  in  the  actor's  art  was  boundless;  his  imagination  was 
wholly  convinced.  He  attributed  to  him  the  wit  of  Beau- 
marchais,  the  eloquence  of  Antony,  the  sarcasm  of  Mephisto- 
pheles,  the  daemonic  energy  of  Franz  Moor.  When  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  part,  he  did  not  conceal  his  grief,  and 
from  afar  wrote  him  at  intervals  a  letter  of  adoration. 

The  actor  accepted  this  worship  as  a  tribute  that  differed 
fundamentally  from  the  average  praise  and  love  with  which 
he  was  beginning  to  be  satiated. 


Lola  Hesekiel,  the  celebrated  beauty,  owed  her  good  for- 
tune wholly  to  Crammon.  Crammon  had  educated  her  and 
given  her  her  place  in  the  world  and  its  appreciation. 

When  she  was  but  an  undistinguished  young  girl  Crammon 
took  a  trip  with  her  to  Sylt.  There  they  met  Crammon's  friend, 
Franz  Lothar  von  Westernach.  Lola  fell  in  love  with  the 
handsome  young  aristocrat,  and  one  evening,  after  a  tender 
hour,  she  confessed  her  love  for  the  other  to  Criammon. 
Then  Crammon  arose  from  his  couch,  dressed  himself,  went  to 
Franz  Lothar's  room  and  brought  the  shy  lad  in.  "  My 
children,"  he  said  in  the  kindliest  way,  "  I  give  you  to  each 
other.  Be  happy  and  enjoy  your  youth."  With  these  words 
he  left  the  two  alone.  And  for  long  neither  of  them  quite 
knew  how  to  take  so  unwonted  a  situation. 

VI 

A  curious  occurrence  was  that  connected  with  the  Countess 
Ortenburg  and  the  agate  bowl. 

The  countess  was  an  old  lady  of  seventy,  who  lived  in 
retirement  at  her  chateau  near  Bregenz.  Crammon,  who  had 
a  great  liking  for  ancient  ladies  of  dignity  and  worldly  wisdom, 


6  THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

visited  her  almost  annually  to  cheer  her  and  to  chat  with  her 
about  the  past. 

The  countess  was  grateful  to  him  for  his  devotion,  and 
determined  to  reward  it.  One  day  she  showed  him  an  agate 
bowl  mounted  on  gold,  an  heirloom  of  her  house,  and  told  him 
that  this  bowl  would  be  his  after  her  death,  as  she  had  pro- 
vided in  her  will. 

Crammon  flushed  with  pleasure,  and  tenderly  kissed  her 
hand.  At  every  visit  he  took  occasion  to  see  the  precious 
bowl,  revelled  in  the  sight  of  it,  and  enjoyed  the  foretaste  of 
complete  possession. 

The  countess  died,  and  Crammon  was  soon  notified  con- 
cerning her  legacy.  The  bowl  was  sent  him  carefully  packed 
in  a  box.  When  it  was  freed  of  its  wrappings  he  saw  with 
amazement  and  disgust  that  he  had  been  cheated.  What  he 
held  was  an  imitation — skilfully  and  exactly  made.  But  the 
material  was  base;  only  the  setting  had  been  copied  in  real 
gold. 

Bitterly  he  considered  what  to  do.  Whom  dared  he  accuse? 
How  could  he  prove  the  very  existence  of  the  genuine  bowl? 

The  heirs  of  the  countess  were  three  nephews  of  her  name. 
The  eldest,  Count  Leopold,  was  in  ill  repute  as  a  miser  who 
grudged  himself  and  others  their  very  bread.  If  he  had 
played  the  trick,  the  bowl  had  been  sold  long  ago. 

It  was  easy  to  find  a  pretext  for  visiting  Count  Leopold  at 
Salzburg.  He  sought  distinction  in  piety  and  stood  in  favour 
at  the  bishop's  court.  Crammon  thought  that  there  was  a 
gleam  of  embarrassment  in  the  man's  eyes.  He  himself  peered 
about  like  a  lynx.  In  vain. 

He  happened,  however,  to  know  all  the  prominent  dealers 
in  antiquities  on  the  Continent,  and  so  he  set  out  on  a  quest. 
For  two  months  and  a  half  he  travelled  from  city  to  city,  from 
one  dealer  to  another,  and  asked  questions,  investigated,  and 
kept  a  sharp  look-out.  He  carried  the  imitation  bowl  with  him 
and  showed  it  to  all.  The  dealers  were  quite  familiar  with  the 


CRAMMON,   STAINLESS   KNIGHT        7 

sight  of  a  connoisseur  with  his  heart  set  on  some  object  of  art; 
they  answered  his  questions  willingly  and  sent  him  hither  and 
thither. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  despairing,  when  in  Aix  he  was  told 
of  a  dealer  in  Brussels  who  was  said  to  have  acquired  the 
bowl.  It  was  true.  He  found  the  object  of  his  search  in 
Brussels.  Crammon  inquired  after  the  name  of  the  seller  and 
discovered  it  to  be  that  of  one  who  had  business  relations 
with  Count  Leopold.  The  Belgian  dealer  demanded  twenty 
thousand  francs  for  the  bowl.  Crammon  at  once  deposited 
one  thousand,  with  the  assurance  that  he  would  pay  the  rest 
within  a  week  and  then  take  the  bowl.  He  maae  no  attempt 
at  bargaining,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  the  dealer.  But 
in  his  rage  he  thought:  I  have  snared  the  thief.  Why  should 
his  rascality  come  cheaply? 

Two  days  later  he  entered  the  count's  room.  He  was 
accompanied  by  a  hotel  porter,  who  placed  a  box  containing 
the  imitation  bowl  on  a  table  and  disappeared.  The  count 
was  breakfasting  alone.  He  arose  and  frowned. 

Crammon  silently  opened  the  little  box,  lifted  the  bowl  out, 
polished  it  carefully  with  a  handkerchief,  kept  it  in  his  hand, 
and  assumed  a  care-worn  look. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  the  count,  turning  pale. 

Crammon  told  him  how,  by  the  merest  chance,  he  had 
discovered  in  a  Brussels  shop  this  bowl  which,  as  he  knew, 
had  been  for  centuries  in  the  possession  of  the  Ortenburgs.  It 
had,  therefore,  scarcely  required  the  mournful  memory  of  his 
dear  and  honoured  old  friend  to  persuade  him  to  restore  the 
precious  object  to  the  family  treasury  whence  it  came.  He 
esteemed  it  a  great  good  fortune  that  it  was  he  who  had  dis- 
covered this  impious  trade  in  precious  things.  Had  it  been  any 
one  else  the  danger  of  loose  tongues  causing  an  actual  scandal 
was  obvious  enough.  He  had,  he  continued,  paid  twenty 
thousand  francs  for  the  bowl,  which  he  had  brought  in  order  to 
restore  it  to  the  house  of  Ortenburg.  The  receipt  was  at  the 


8  THE  WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

count's  disposal.    All  he  requested  of  the  count  was  a  cheque 
for  the  amount  involved. 

He  breathed  no  word  concerning  a  will  or  a  legacy,  and 
betrayed  no  suspicion  of  how  he  had  been  tricked.  The  count 
understood.  He  looked  at  the  imitation  bowl  on  the  table  and 
recognized  it  for  what  it  was.  But  he  lacked  courage  to  object. 
He  swallowed  his  rage,  sat  down  and  made  out  the  cheque. 
His  chin  quivered  with  fury.  Crammon  was  radiant.  He  left 
the  imitation  bowl  where  it  stood,  and  at  once  set  out  for 
Brussels  to  fetch  the  other. 

VII 

There  were  three  things  that  Crammon  hated  from  the 
bottom  of  his  heart:  newspapers,  universal  education,  and 
taxes.  It  was  especially  impossible  for  him  to  realize  that  he, 
like  others,  was  subject  to  taxation. 

He  had  been  summoned  on  a  certain  occasion  to  give  an 
accounting  of  his  income.  He  declared  that  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  year  he  lived  as  a  guest  in  the  chateaux  and  on 
the  estates  of  his  friends. 

The  examining  official  replied  that  since  he  was  known  to 
live  a  rather  luxurious  life,  it  was  clear  that  he  must  have  a 
fixed  income  from  some  source. 

"  Undoubtedly,"  Crammon  lied  with  the  utmost  cynicism. 
"  This  income  consists  wholly  of  meagre  winnings  at  the  vari- 
ous international  gambling  resorts.  Earnings  of  that  sort  are 
not  subject  to  taxation." 

The  official  was  astonished  and  shook  his  head.  He  left  the 
room  in  order  to  consult  his  superiors  in  regard  to  the  case. 
Crammon  was  left  alone.  Trembling  with  rage  he  gazed  about 
him,  took  a  stack  of  legal  documents  from  a  shelf,  and  shoved 
them  far  behind  a  bookcase  against  the  wall.  There,  so  far  as 
one  could  tell,  they  would  moulder  in  the  course  of  the  years, 
and  in  their  illegal  hiding  place  save  the  owners  of  the  names 
they  recorded  from  taxation. 


CRAMMON,    STAINLESS   KNIGHT       9 

For  years  he  would  chuckle  whenever  he  thought  of  this 
deviltry. 

VIII 

The  Princess  Uchnina  had  made  Crammon's  acquaintance  in 
one  of  the  castles  of  the  Esterhazys  in  Hungary.  Even  at  that 
time  the  free  manner  of  her  life  had  set  tongues  wagging; 
later  on  her  family  disowned  her. 

He  met  he/  again  in  a  hotel  at  Cairo.  Since  she  was  wealthy 
there  was  no  danger  of  his  being  exploited.  He  had  little  lik- 
ing for  the  professional  vampire,  nor  had  he  ever  lost  the 
mastery  over  his  senses.  There  was  no  passion  that  could 
prevent  him  from  going  to  bed  at  ten  and  sleeping  soundly 
through  a  long  night.  The  princess  was  fond  of  laughing  and 
Crammon  helped  her  to  laugh,  since  it  pleased  him  to  see  her 
amused.  He  did  not  care  to  be  loved  beyond  measure;  he 
valued  considerate  treatment  and  a  comradely  freedom  of 
contact.  He  had  no  desire  for  love  with  its  usual  spices  of 
romance  and  disquietude,  jealousy  and  enslavement.  He 
wanted  the  delight  of  love  in  as  tangible  and  sensible  a  form 
as  possible;  he  cared  less  for  the  flame  than  for  the  dainty  on 
the  spit. 

On  the  ship  that  took  him  and  the  princess  to  Brindisi 
there  appeared  a  Danish  lady  with  hair  the  hue  of  wheat  and 
eyes  like  cornflowers.  She  was  lonely,  and  he  sought  her  out 
and  succeeded  in  charming  her.  The  three  travelled  together  to 
Naples,  where  the  Danish  lady  and  Crammon  seemed  to  have 
become  friendlier  than  ever;  but  the  princess  only  laughed. 

They  arrived  in  Florence.  In  front  of  the  Baptistery  Cram- 
mon met  a  melancholy  young  woman,  whom  he  recognized  as 
an  acquaintance  made  at  Ostende.  She  was  the  daughter  of 
a  manufacturer  of  Mainz.  She  had  married  recently,  but  her 
husband  had  lost  her  dowry  at  Monte  Carlo  and  had  fled  to 
America.  Crammon  introduced  her  to  the  other  ladies,  but, 
for  the  sake  of  the  Dane,  who  was  suspicious  and  exacting, 


io  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

passed  her  off  as  his  cousin.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before 
a  quarrel  broke  out  between  the  two,  and  Crammon  was  very 
busy*  preaching  the  spirit  of  reconciliation  and  peace. 

The  princess  laughed. 

Crammon  said:  "  I  should  like  to  see  how  many  women  one 
can  gather  together  like  this  without  their  thirsting  for  one 
another's  blood."  He  made  a  wager  with  the  princess  for  a 
hundred  marks  that  he  could  increase  the  number  to  five, 
herself  of  course  excepted.  . 

In  the  station  at  Milan  a  charming  creature  ran  into  him, 
and  gave  signs  of  unalloyed  delight.  She  was  an  actress  who 
had  been  intimate  with  a  friend  of  his  years  before.  She  had 
just  been  engaged  by  a  theatre  in  Petrograd  and  was  now  on 
her  way  there.  Crammon  found  her  so  amusing  that  he 
neglected  the  others  for  her  sake;  and  although  he  was  not 
lacking  in  subtlety,  the  signs  of  a  coming  revolution  in  his 
palace  increased.  The  revolution  broke  out  in  Munich.  There 
were  hard  words  and  tears ;  trunks  were  packed ;  and  the  ladies 
scattered  to  all  the  points  of  the  compass, — North  to  Denmark, 
West  to  Mainz,  East  to  Petrograd. 

Crammon  was  mournful;  he  had  lost  his  bet.  The  little 
princess  laughed.  She  remained  with  him  until  another  lure 
grew  stronger.  Then  they  celebrated  a  cheerful  farewell. 

IX 

When  Crammon  was  but  a  youth  of  twenty-three  he  had  once 
been  a  member  of  a  large  hunting  party  at  Count  Sinsheim's. 
Among  the  guests  there  was  a  gentleman  named  von  Febronius 
who  attracted  his  attention,  first  by  his  silence,  and  next  by 
frequently  seeking  his  society  while  carefully  avoiding  the 
others. 

One  day  Febronius,  with  unusual  urgency,  begged  Crammon 
to  visit  him. 

Febronius  possessed  an  extensive  entailed  estate  on  the 
boundary  between  Silesia  and  Poland.  He  was  the  last  of  his 


CRAMMON,   STAINLESS   KNIGHT      11 

race  and  name,  and,  as  every  one  knew,  deeply  unhappy  on  this 
account.  Nine  years  earlier  he  had  married  the  daughter  of 
a  middle-class  family  of  Breslau,  and  in  spite  of  the  difference 
in  age  the  two  were  genuinely  devoted  to  each  other.  The 
wife  was  thirty,  the  husband  near  fifty.  The  marriage  had 
proved  childless,  and  there  seemed  now  no  further  hope. 

Crammon  promised  to  come,  and  some  weeks  later,  on  an 
evening  in  May,  he  arrived  at  the  estate.  Febronius  was  de- 
lighted to  see  him,  but  the  lady,  who  was  pretty  and  cultivated, 
was  noticeably  chill  in  her  demeanour.  Whenever  she  was 
forced  to  look  at  Crammon  a  perceptible  change  of  colour 
overspread  her  face. 

Next  morning  Febronius  showed  him  the  whole  estate— 
the  park,  the  fields  and  forests,  the  stables  and  dairies.  It 
was  a  little  kingdom,  and  Crammon  expressed  his  admiration; 
but  his  host  sighed.  He  said  that  his  blessings  had  all  been 
embittered,  every  beast  of  the  field  seemed  to  regard  him  with 
reproachful  eyes,  and  the  land  and  its  fertility  meant  nothing 
to  him  who  had  brought  death  to  his  race,  and  whom  the 
fertility  of  nature  but  put  in  mind  of  the  sterile  curse  which 
had  come  upon  his  blood. 

Then  he  became  silent,  and  silently  accompanied  Crammon, 
whose  head  whirled  with  very  bold  and  equivocal  thoughts. 

After  dinner  they  were  sitting  on  the  terrace  with  Frau 
von  Febronius.  Suddenly  the  lord  of  the  manor  was  called 
away  and  returned  shortly  with  a  telegram  in  his  hand.  He 
said  that  an  urgent  matter  of  tbusiness  required  him  to  set  out 
on  a  journey  at  once.  Crammon  arose  with  a  gesture,  to  show 
his  consciousness  of  the  propriety  of  his  leaving  too.  But  his 
host,  almost  frightened,  begged  him  to  stay  and  keep  his  wife 
company.  It  was,  he  said,  only  a  matter  of  two  days,  and  she 
would  be  grateful. 

He  stammered  these  words  and  grew  pale.  His  wife  kept 
her  face  bent  closely  over  her  embroidery  frame,  and  Crammon 
saw  her  fingers  tremble.  He  knew  enough.  He  shook  hands 


12  THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

with  Febronius,  and  knew  that  they  would  not  and  dared  not 
meet  again  in  life. 

He  found  the  lady,  when  they  were  alone  together,  shier 
than  he  had  anticipated.  Her  gestures  expressed  reluctance, 
her  glances  fear.  When  his  speech  grew  bolder,  shame  and 
indignation  flamed  in  her  eyes.  She  fled  from  him,  sought  him 
again,  and  when  in  the  evening  they  strolled  through  the  park 
she  implored  him  to  leave  next  day,  and  went  to  the  stables  to 
order  the  carriage  for  the  morning.  When  he  consented,  her 
behaviour  altered,  her  torment  and  her  harshness  seemed  to 
melt.  After  midnight  she  suddenly  appeared  in  his  room,  strug- 
gling with  herself  and  on  the  defensive,  defiant  and  deeply 
humiliated,  bitter  in  her  yielding,  and  in  her  very  tenderness 
estranged. 

Early  next  morning  the  carriage  was  ready  and  drove  him  to 
the  station. 

That  marvellous  night  faded  from  his  memory  as  a  thousand 
others,  less  marvellous,  had  done.  The  spectral  experience 
blended  with  a  host  of  others  that  were  without  its  aroma  of 
spiritual  pain. 


Sixteen  years  later  chance  brought  him  into  the  same  part  of 
the  country. 

He  inquired  after  Febronius,  and  learned  that  that  gentle- 
man had  been  dead  for  ten  years.  He  was  told,  furthermore, 
that  during  his  last  years  the  character  of  Febronius  had 
changed  radically.  He  had  become  a  spendthrift;  frightful 
mismanagement  had  ruined  his  estate  and  shaken  his  fortune; 
swindlers  and  false  friends  had  ruled  him  exclusively,  so  that 
his  widow,  who  was  still  living  on  the  estate  with  her  only 
daughter,  could  scarcely  maintain  herself  there.  She  was  beset 
by  usurious  creditors  and  a  growing  burden  of  debt;  she  did 
not  know  an  easy  hour,  and  complete  ruin  was  but  a  matter  of 
time. 


CRAMMON,   STAINLESS  KNIGHT      13 

Crammon  drove  over  to  the  estate,  and  had  himself  an- 
nounced under  an  assumed  name.  When  Frau  von  Febronius 
entered  he  saw  that  she  was  still  charming.  Her  hair  was  still 
brown,  her  features  curiously  young.  But  there  was  something 
frightened  and  suspicious  about  her. 

She  asked  where  she  had  had  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaint- 
ance. Crammon  simply  regarded  her  for  a  while,  and  she  too 
looked  at  him  attentively.  Suddenly  she  uttered  a  cry  and 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  When  she  had  mastered  her  emo- 
tion, she  gave  him  her  hand.  Then  she  left  the  room,  and 
returned  in  a  few  minutes  leading  a  young  girl  of  great  sweet- 
ness. 

"  Here  she  is." 

The  girl  smiled.  Her  lips  curved  as  though  she  were  about 
to  pout,  and  her  teeth  showed  the  glittering  moisture  of  shells 
to  which  the  water  of  the  sea  still  clings. 

She  spoke  of  the  beautiful  day  and  of  her  having  lain  in  the 
sun.  The  broken  alto  voice  surprised  one  in  so  young  a 
creature.  In  her  wide,  brown  eyes  there  was  a  radiance  of 
unbounded  desires.  Crammon  was  flattered,  and  thought: 
If  God  had  made  me  a  woman,  perhaps  I  should  have  been  such 
an  one.  He  asked  after  her  name.  It  was  Letitia. 

Frau  von  Febronius  clung  to  the  girl  with  every  glance. 

Letitia  brought  in  a  basket  full  of  golden  pears.  She  looked 
at  the  fruit  with  greed  and  with  an  ironic  consciousness  of  her 
greed.  She  cut  a  pear  in  half  and  found  a  worm  in  it.  That 
disgusted  her  and  she  complained  bitterly. 

Crammon  asked  her  what  she  cared  for  most,  and  she 
answered:  "  Jewels." 

Her  mother  reproached  her  with  being  careless  of  what  she 
had.  "  Only  the  other  day,"  said  Frau  von  Febronius,  "  she 
lost  a  costly  ring." 

"  Just  give  me  something  to  love,"  Letitia  replied  and  stroked 
a  white  kitten  that  purred  and  jumped  on  her  lap,  "  and  I'll 
hold  on  to  it  fast." 


I4  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

When  he  said  farewell  Crammon  promised  to  write,  and 
Letitia  promised  to  send  him  her  picture. 

A  few  weeks  later  Frau  von  Febronius  informed  him  that  she 
had  taken  Letitia  to  Weimar,  and  placed  her  in  the  care  of 
her  sister,  the  Countess  Brainitz. 

XI 

On  Crammon's  fortieth  birthday  he  received  from  seven  of 
his  friends,  whose  names  were  signed  to  it,  a  document  written 
in  the  elaborate  script  and  manner  of  an  official  diploma. 
And  the  content  of  the  document  was  this: 

"  0  Crammon,  friend  of  friends,  admirer  of  women  and  con- 
temner  of  their  sex,  enemy  of  marriage,  glass  of  fashion,  de- 
fender of  descent,  shield  of  high  rank,  guest  of  all  noble  spirits, 
finder  of  the  genuine,  tester  of  the  exquisite,  friend  of  the 
people  and  hater  of  mankind,  long  sleeper  and  rebel,  Bernard 
Gervasius,  hail  to  thee!  " 

Gleaming  with  pride  and  satisfaction  Crammon  hung  up  the 
beautifully  framed  parchment  on  the  wall  beside  his  bed. 
Then  with  the  two  ladies  of  his  household  he  took  a  turn  in 
the  park. 

Miss  Aglaia  walked  at  his  right,  Miss  Constantine  at  his 
left.  Both  were  festively  arrayed,  though  in  a  somewhat 
antique  fashion,  and  their  faces  were  the  happiest  to  be  seen. 


CHRISTIAN'S  REST 


CRAMMON  found  the  forties  to  be  a  critical  period  in  a 
man's  life.  It  is  then  that  in  his  mind  he  sits  in  judgment  upon 
himself;  he  seeks  the  sum  of  his  existence,  and  finds  blunder 
after  blunder  in  the  reckoning. 

But  these  moral  difficulties  did  not  very  much  influence 
either  his  attitude  or  the  character  of  his  activities.  He  found 
his  appetite  for  life  growing,  but  he  found  loneliness  a  heavier 
burden  than  before.  When  he  was  alone  he  was  overcome  by 
a  feeling  which  he  called  the  melancholy  of  the  half-way 
house. 

In  Paris  he  was  overtaken  by  this  distemper  of  the  soul. 
Felix  Imhof  and  Franz  Lothar  von  Westernach  had  agreed  to 
meet  him,  and  both  had  left  him  in  the  lurch.  Imhof  had 
been  kept  in  Frankfort  by  his  business  on  the  exchange  and 
his  real  estate  interests,  and  had  telegraphed  a  later  date  of 
arrival.  Franz  Lothar  had  remained  in  Switzerland  with  his 
brother  and  Count  Prosper  Madruzzi. 

In  his  vexation  Crammon  spent  his  days  largely  in  bed. 
He  either  read  foolish  novels  or  murmured  his  annoyances 
over  to  himself.  Out  of  sheer  boredom  he  ordered  fourteen 
pairs  of  boots  of  those  three  or  four  masters  of  the  craft  who 
work  only  for  the  elect  and  accept  a  new  customer  only  when 
recommended  by  a  distinguished  client. 

He  was  to  have  spent  the  month  of  September  with  the 
Wahnschaffe  family  on  their  estate  in  the  Odenwald.  He  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  young  Wolfgang  Wahnschaffe  the 
summer  before  at  a  tennis  tournament  in  Homburg,  and  had 
accepted  his  invitation.  In  his  exasperation  over  his  truant 
friends  he  now  wrote  and  excused  himself. 

15 


16  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

One  evening  in  Montmartre  he  met  the  painter  Weikhardt, 
whom  he  had  known  in  Munich.  They  walked  together  for 
a  while,  and  Weikhardt  encouraged  Crammon  to  visit  a 
neighbouring  music  hall.  A  very  young  dancer  had  been 
appearing  there  for  the  past  week,  the  painter  told  him,  and 
many  French  colleagues  had  advised  seeing  her. 

Crammon  agreed. 

Weikhardt  led  him  through  a  maze  of  suspicious  looking 
alleys  to  a  no  less  suspicious  looking  house.  This  was  the 
Theatre  Sapajou.  A  boy  in  fantastic  costume  opened  the  door 
that  led  to  a  moderately  large,  half-darkened  hall  with  scarlet 
walls  and  a  wooden  gallery.  About  fifty  people,  mostly 
painters  and  writers  with  their  wives,  sat  facing  a  tiny  stage. 
The  performance  had  begun. 

Two  fiddles  and  a  clarionet  furnished  the  music. 

And  Crammon  saw  Eva  Sorel  dance. 

ii 

His  anger  against  his  friends  was  extinguished.  He  was  glad 
that  they  were  not  here. 

He  was  afraid  of  meeting  any  of  his  many  Parisian  acquaint- 
ances and  passed  through  the  streets  with  lowered  eyes.  The 
thought  was  repulsive  to  him  that  he  would  be  forced  to  speak 
to  them  of  Eva  Sorel,  and  then  to  see  their  indifferent  or  curious 
faces,  beneath  which  there  could  be  no  feeling  akin  to  his 
own. 

He  avoided  the  painter  Weikhardt,  for  the  latter  would  rob 
him  of  the  illusion  that  he,  Crammon,  had  discovered  Eva 
Sorel,  and  that  for  the  present  she  lived  only  in  his  conscious- 
ness as  the  miracle  that  he  felt  her  to  be. 

He  went  about  like  an  unrecognized  rich  man,  or  else  as 
troubled  as  a  miser  who  knows  that  thieves  lie  in  wait  for 
his  treasure.  All  who  carried  their  chatter  of  delight  from  the 
Theatre  Sapajou  out  into  the  world  he  regarded  as  thieves. 
They  threatened  to  attract  to  the  little  playhouse  the  crowd 


CHRISTIAN'S   REST  17 

of  the  stupid  and  the  banal  who  drag  great  things  into  the  dust 
by  making  them  fashionable. 

He  nursed  the  dream  of  kidnapping  the  dancer  and  of 
fleeing  with  her  to  a  deserted  island  of  the  sea.  He  would 
have  been  satisfied  to  adore  her  there  and  would  have  asked 
nothing  of  her. 

For  Lorm  he  had  demanded  applause.  But  he  hated  the 
favour  which  the  dancer  gained.  Not  because  she  was  a 
woman.  It  was  not  the  jealousy  of  the  male.  He  did  not 
think  of  her  under  the  aspect  of  sex.  Her  being  was  to  him  the 
fulfilment  of  dark  presentiments  and  visions;  she  represented 
the  spirit  of  lightness  as  opposed  to  the  heaviness  of  life  which 
weighed  him  and  others  down;  she  was  flight  that  mocked 
the  creeping  of  the  earth-bound,  the  mystery  that  is  beyond 
knowledge,  form  that  is  the  denial  of  chaos. 
.  He  said:  "  This  boasted  twentieth  century,  young  as  it  is, 
wearies  my  nerves.  Humanity  drags  itself  across  the  earth 
like  an  ugly  clumsy  worm.  She  desires  freedom  from  this 
condition,  and  in  her  yearning  to  escape  the  chrysalis  she  finds 
the  dance.  It  is  a  barbaric  spirit  of  comedy  at  its  highest 
point." 

He  knew  well  that  the  life  he  led  was  a  challenge  and  a 
disturbance  to  his  fellow  men  who  earned  their  bread  by  the 
sweat  of  their  toil.  He  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  those 
ages  in  which  the  ruling  classes  had  really  ruled,  when  a  prince 
of  the  Church  had  had  a  capon  stuffer  amid  the  officials  of  his 
court,  and  an  insignificant  count  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire 
had  paid  an  army  that  consisted  of  one  general,  six  colonels, 
four  drummers,  and  two  privates.  And  he  was  grateful  to  the 
dancer  because  she  lifted  him  out  of  his  own  age  even  more 
thoroughly  than  the  actor  had  done. 

He  made  an  idol  of  her,  for  the  years  were  coming  in  which 
he  needed  one — he  who,  satiated,  still  knew  hunger  with  senses 
avid  for  the  flight  of  birds. 


i8  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

in 

Eva  Sorel  had  a  companion  and  guardian,  Susan  Rappard, 
a  thorough  scarecrow,  clad  in  black,  and  absent-minded.  She 
had  emerged  with  Eva  out  of  the  unknown  past,  and  she  was 
still  rubbing  its  darkness  out  of  her  eyes  when  Eva,  at  eighteen, 
saw  the  paths  of  light  open  to  her.  But  she  played  the  piano 
admirably,  and  thus  accompanied  Eva's  practice. 

Crammon  had  paid  her  some  attentions,  and  the  tone  in 
which  he  spoke  of  her  mistress  gained  her  sympathy.  She 
persuaded  Eva  to  receive  him.  "  Take  her  flowers,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  She's  fond  of  them." 

Eva  and  Susan  Rappard  lived  in  two  rooms  in  a  small  hotel. 
Crammon  brought  such  masses  of  roses  that  the  close  corridors 
held  the  fragrance  for  many  hours. 

As  he  entered  he  saw  Eva  in  an  armchair  in  front  of  a 
mirror.  Susan  was  combing  her  hair,  which  was  of  the  colour 
of  honey. 

On  the  carpet  was  kneeling  a  lad  of  seventeen  who  was  very 
pale  and  whose  face  bore  traces  of  tears.  He  had  declared 
his  love  to  Eva.  Even  when  the  stranger  entered  he  had  no 
impulse  to  get  up;  his  luckless  passion  made  him  blind. 

Crammon  remained  standing  by  the  door. 

"  Susan,  you're  hurting  me!  "  Eva  cried.  Susan  was  startled 
and  dropped  the  comb. 

Eva  held  out  her  hand  to  Crammon.  He  approached  and 
bent  over  to  kiss  it. 

"  Poor  chap,"  she  said,  smiling,  and  indicating  the  lad,  "  he 
torments  himself  cruelly.  It's  so  foolish." 

The  boy  pressed  his  forehead  against  the  back  of  her  chair. 
"  I'll  kill  myself,"  he  whimpered.  Eva  clapped  her  hands  and 
brought  her  face  with  its  arch  mockery  of  sadness  near  to  the 
boy's. 

"  What  a  gesture!  "  Crammon  thought.  "  How  perfect  in  its 
light  completeness,  how  delicate,  how  new!  And  how  she 


CHRISTIAN'S    REST  19 

raised  her  lids  and  showed  the  strong  light  of  her  starry  eyes, 
and  dropped  her  chin  a  little  in  that  inclination  of  the  head, 
and  wore  a  smile  that  was  unexpected  in  its  blending  of  desire 
and  sweetness  and  cunning  and  childlikeness !  " 

"  Where  is  my  golden  snood?  "  Eva  asked  and  arose. 

Susan  said  that  she  had  left  it  on  the  table.  She  looked 
there  in  vain.  She  fluttered  hither  and  thither  like  a  huge 
black  butterfly:  she  opened  and  closed  drawers,  shook  her 
head,  thoughtfully  pressed  her  hand  against  her  forehead,  and 
finally  found  the  snood  under  the  piano  lid  next  to  a  roll  of 
bank  notes. 

"  It's  always  that  way  with  us,"  Eva  sighed.  "  We  always 
find  things.  But  we  have  to  hunt  a  long  time."  She  fastened 
the  snood  about  her  hair. 

"  I  can't  place  your  French  accent,"  Crammon  remarked. 
His  own  pronunciation  was  Parisian. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  Perhaps  it's  Spanish.  I 
was  in  Spain  a  long  time.  Perhaps  it's  German.  I  was  born 
in  Germany  and  lived  there  till  I  was  twelve."  Her  eyes  grew 
a  little  sombre. 

rv 

The  lovelorn  boy  had  left.  Eva  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
him,  and  there  was  no  shadow  upon  the  brunette  pallor  of 
her  face.  She  sat  down  again,  and  after  a  brief  exchange  of 
questions  she  told  him  of  an  experience  that  she  had  had. 

The  reason  for  her  telling  the  story  seemed  to  inhere  in 
thoughts  which  she  did  not  express.  Her  glance  rested  calmly 
in  the  illimitable.  Her  eyes  knew  no  walls  in  their  vision; 
no  one  could  assert  that  she  looked  at  him.  She  merely 
gazed. 

Susan  Rappard  sat  by  the  tile-oven,  resting  her  chin  upon 
her  arm,  while  her  fingers,  gliding  past  the  furrowed  cheeks, 
clung  amid  her  greyish  hair. 

At  Aries  in  Provence  a  young  monk  named  Brother  Leotade 


20  THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

had  often  visited  Eva.  He  was  not  over  twenty-five,  vigorous, 
a  typical  Frenchman  of  the  South,  though  rather  taciturn. 

He  loved  the  land  and  knew  the  old  castles.  Once  he  spoke 
to  her  of  a  tower  that  stood  on  a  cliff,  a  mile  from  the  city; 
he  described  the  view  from  the  top  of  the  tower  in  words  that 
made  Eva  long  to  enjoy  it.  He  offered  to  be  her  guide,  and 
they  agreed  on  the  hour  and  the  day. 

The  tower  had  an  iron  gate  which  was  kept  locked,  and  the 
key  was  in  the  keeping  of  a  certain  vintner.  It  was  late  after- 
noon when  they  set  out,  but  on  the  unshaded  road  it  was  still 
hot.  They  meant  to  be  back  before  night  fall,  and  so  they 
walked  quickly;  but  when  they  reached  the  tower  the  sun  had 
already  disappeared  behind  the  hills. 

Brother  Leotade  opened  the  iron  gate  and  they  saw  a 
narrow  spiral  staircase  of  stone.  They  climbed  a  few  stairs. 
Then  the  monk  turned  suddenly,  locked  the  door  from  within, 
and  slipped  the  key  into  the  pocket  of  his  cowl.  Eva  asked  his 
reason.  He  replied  that  it  was  safer  so. 

It  was  dim  in  the  vaulted  tower,  and  Eva  saw  a  menacing 
gleam  in  the  monk's  eyes.  She  let  him  precede  her,  but  on  a 
landing  he  turned  and  grasped  her.  She  was  silent,  although 
she  felt  the  pressure  of  his  fingers.  Still  silent,  she  glided  from 
his  grasp,  and  ran  up  as  swiftly  as  she  could.  She  heard  no 
steps  behind  her  in  the  darkness,  and  the  stairs  seemed  end- 
less. Still  she  climbed  until  her  breath  gave  out,  and  she 
panted  for  the  light.  Suddenly  the  greenish  bell  of  the  sky 
gleamed  into  the  shaft;  and  as  she  mounted,  the  circle  of  her 
vision  widened  to  the  scarlet  of  the  West,  and  when  she  stood 
on  the  last  step  and  on  the  platform,  having  emerged  from 
the  mustiness  of  the  old  walls  into  the  balsamic  coolness  and 
the  multiform  and  tinted  beauty  of  earth  and  air,  the  danger 
seemed  wholly  past. 

She  waited  and  watched  the  dark  hole  from  which  she  had 
come.  The  monk  did  not  appear.  His  treacherous  conceal- 
ment strained  her  nerves  to  the  uttermost.  The  brief  twilight 


CHRISTIAN'S   REST  21 

faded;  evening  turned  into  night;  there  was  no  sound,  no 
tread.  Not  until  late  did  it  occur  to  her  that  she  could  call 
for  help.  She  cried  out  into  the  land,  but  she  saw  that  it 
was  a  desolate  region  in  which  no  one  dwelled.  And  when 
her  feeble  cry  had  died  away,  the  shape  of  Brother  Leotade 
appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

The  expression  on  his  face  filled  her  now  with  an  even 
greater  horror.  He  murmured  something  and  stretched  out 
his  arms  after  her.  She  bounded  backward,  groping  behind 
her  with  her  hands.  He  followed  her,  and  she  leaped  upon 
the  parapet,  crouched  near  the  pinnacle,  hard  by  the  outer 
rim  of  the  wall,  her  head  and  shoulders  over  the  abyss.  The 
wind  caught  the  veil  that  had  been  wound  about  her  head  and 
it  streamed  forth  like  a  flag.  The  monk  stood  still,  bound 
to  the  spot  by  her  eyes.  His  own  were  fixed  relentlessly  upon 
her,  but  he  dared  not  move,  for  he  saw  the  determination 
in  her  face:  if  he  moved  toward  her,  she  would  leap  to  her 
death. 

And  yet  a  rage  of  desire  kept  flaring  in  his  eyes. 

The  hours  passed.  The  monk  stood  there  as  though  cast 
of  bronze,  while  she  crouched  on  the  parapet,  motionless  but 
for  her  fluttering  veil,  and  held  him  with  her  eye  as  one  holds 
a  wolf.  Stars  gathered  in  the  sky;  from  time  to  time  she 
glanced  for  a  second  at  the  firmament.  Never  had  she  been 
so  near  to  the  eternal  flame.  She  seemed  to  hear  the  melody 
of  a  million  worlds  singing  in  their  orbits ;  her  unmoving  limbs 
seemed  to  vibrate;  the  hands  with  which  she  clung  to  the  harsh 
wall  seemed  to  upbear  the  adamantine  roof  of  the  cosmos, 
while  below  her  was  the  created  thing,  blind  and  wracked  by 
passion  and  sworn  to  a  God  whom  it  belied. 

Gradually  the  rim  of  heaven  grew  bright  and  the  birds 
began  to  flutter  upward.  Then  Brother  Leotade  threw  himself 
upon  his  face  and  began  to  pray  aloud.  And  as  the  East  grew 
brighter  he  lifted  up  more  resonantly  the  voice  of  his  prayer. 
He  crept  toward  the  stairs.  Then  he  arose  and  disappeared. 


22  THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

She  saw  him  issue  from  the  gate  below  and  disappear  in  the 
dawn  among  the  vineyards.  Eva  lay  long  in  the  grass  below, 
worn  and  dull,  before  she  could  walk  back  to  the  city. 

"  It  may  be,"  she  said  at  the  end  of  her  story,  "  that  some 
one  looked  on  from  Sirius,  some  one  who  will  come  soon  and 
perhaps  be  my  friend."  She  smiled. 

"  From  Sirius?  "  The  voice  of  Susan  was  heard.  "  Where 
will  he  get  pearls  and  diadems?  What  crowns  will  he  offer 
you,  and  what  provinces?  Let  us  have  no  dealings  with 
beggars,  even  though  they  come  from  the  sky." 

"Keep  quiet,  you  Sancho  Panza!  "  Eva  said.  "All  that 
I  ask  is  that  he  can  laugh,  laugh  marvellously — laugh  like  that 
young  muleteer  at  Cordova!  Do  you  remember  him?  I  want 
him  to  laugh  so  that  I  can  forget  my  ambitions." 

Hers  is  a  virtue  that  hardly  begs  for  pennies,  thought  Cram- 
mon,  and  determined  to  be  on  his  guard  and  seek  security  while 
there  was  time.  For  in  his  breast  he  felt  a  new,  unknown, 
and  melancholy  burning,  and  he  knew  well  that  he  could  not 
laugh  like  that  young  Cordovan  muleteer  and  make  an  ambi- 
tious woman  forget  her  striving. 


Felix  Imhof  arrived,  and  with  him  Wolfgang  Wahnschaffe, 
a  very  tall  young  man  of  twenty-two.  There  was  an  elegance 
about  the  latter  that  suggested  unlimited  means.  His  father 
was  one  of  the  German  steel  kings. 

Crammon's  refusal  of  his  invitation  had  annoyed  Wahn- 
schaffe, and  he  was  anxious  to  secure  the  older  man's  friend- 
ship. It  was  characteristic  of  the  Wahnschaffes  to  desire  most 
strongly  whatever  seemed  to  withhold  itself  from  their 
grasp. 

They  went  to  the  Theatre  Sapajou,  and  Felix  Imhof  agreed 
that  the  dancer  was  incomparable.  Plans  at  once  flew  from 
his  mind  like  sparks  from  beaten  iron  in  a  smithy.  He  talked 


CHRISTIAN'S   REST  23 

of  foundipg  an  Academy  of  the  Dance,  of  hiring  an  impresario 
for  a  tour  through  Europe,  of  inventing  a  pantomime.  All 
this  was  to  be  done,  so  to  speak,  over  night. 

They  sat  together  and  drank  a  good  deal — first  wine,  then 
champagne,  then  ale,  then  whiskey,  then  coffee,  then  wine 
once  more.  The  excess  had  no  effect  on  Imhof  at  all;  in  his 
soberest  moments  he  was  like  others  in  the  ecstasy  of  drunk- 
enness. 

He  celebrated  the  praises  of  Gauguin,  of  Schiller,  and  of 
Balzac,  and  developed  the  plan  for  a  great  experiment  in 
human  eugenics.  Faultless  men  and  women  were  to  be  chosen 
and  united  and  to  beget  an  Arcadian  race. 

In  the  midst  of  it  all  he  quoted  passages  of  Keats  and 
Rabelais,  mixed  drinks  of  ten  kinds,  and  related  a  dozen 
succulent  anecdotes  from  his  wide  experience  with  women. 
His  mouth  with  its  sensual  lips  poured  forth  superlatives,  his 
protruding  negroid  eyes  sparkled  with  whim  and  wit,  and  his 
spare,  sinewy  body  seemed  to  suffer  if  it  was  forced  to  but  a 
minute's  immobility. 

The  other  two  nearly  fell  asleep  through  sheer  weariness. 
He  grew  steadily  more  awake  and  noisy,  waved  his  hands, 
beat  on  the  table,  inhaled  the  smoky  air  luxuriously,  and 
laughed  with  his  gigantic  bass  voice. 

Five  successive  nights  were  spent  in  this  way.  That  was 
enough  for  CrammoM  and  he  determined  to  leave.  Wolfgang 
Wahnschaffe  had  invited  him  to  a  hunting  party  at  Waldlein- 
ingen. 

It  was  at  eleven  in  the  forenoon  when  Felix  Imhof  burst 
in  on  Crammon.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  stood  a  huge 
open  trunk.  Linen,  clothes,  books,  shoes,  cravattes  were 
scattered  about  like  things  hastily  saved  in  a  fire.  Outside  of 
the  window  swayed  in  flaming  yellow  the  tree-tops  of  the 
Park  Monceau. 

Crammon  sat  in  an  armchair.  He  was  naked  but  for  a 
pair  of  long  hose.  He  had  breakfasted  thus,  and  his  expres- 


24  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

sion  was  sombre.  His  square  Gothic  head  and  his  broad, 
muscular  torso  seemed  made  of  bronze. 

The  day  before  Felix  Imhof  had  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Cardillac,  ruler  of  the  Paris  Bourse,  and  was  on  his  way 
to  him  now.  He  was  going  to  embark  on  some  enterprise  of 
Cardillac  to  the  extent  of  two  millions,  and  asked  Crammon 
in  passing  whether  the  latter  did  not  wish  to  risk  something  too. 
A  trifle,  say  fifty  thousand  francs,  would  suffice.  Cardillac  was 
a  magician  who  trebled  one's  money  in  three  days.  Then  you 
had  had  the  pleasure  of  the  game  and  the  suspense. 

"  This  Cardillac,"  he  said,  "  is  a  wonder.  He  began  life 
as  an  errand  boy  in  an  hotel.  Now  he  is  chief  shareholder  in 
thirty-seven  corporations,  founder  of  the  Franco-Hispanic 
Bank,  owner  of  the  zinc  mines  of  Le  Nere,  ruler  of  a  horde 
of  newspapers,  and  master  of  a  fortune  running  into  the  hun- 
dreds of  millions." 

Crammon  arose,  and  from  the  heaps  on  the  floor  drew  forth 
a  violet  dressing  gown  which  he  put  over  his  shivering  body. 
He  looked  in  it  like  a  cardinal. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know,"  he  asked,  thoughtfully  and 
sleepily,  "  or  did  you  by  chance  ever  observe  how  the  young 
muleteers  in  Cordova  laugh?  " 

Imhof's  helpless  astonishment  made  him  look  stupid.  He 
was  silent. 

Crammon  took  a  large  peach  from  a  plate  and  began  to 
eat  it.  You  could  see  drops  of  the  amber  juice. 

"  There's  no  way  out,"  he  said,  and  sighed  sadly,  "  I  shall 
have  to  go  to  Cordova  myself." 


VI 

On  their  journey  Wahnschaffe  told  Crammon  about  his 
family:  his  sister  Judith,  his  older  brother  Christian,  his 
mother,  who  had  the  most  beautiful  pearls  in  Europe.  "  When 
she  wears  them,"  he  said,  "  she  looks  like  an  Indian  god- 


CHRISTIAN'S    REST  25 

dess."  His  father  he  described  as  an  amiable  man  with  unseen 
backgrounds  of  the  soul. 

Crammon  was  anxious  to  get  as  much  light  as  possible  on  the 
life  and  history  of  one  of  those  great  and  rich  bourgeois 
families  which  had  won  in  the  race  against  the  old  aristocracy. 
Here,  it  seemed  to  him,  was  a  new  world,  an  undiscovered 
country  which  was  still  in  the  blossoming  stage  and  which 
was  to  be  feared. 

His  cleverly  put  questions  got  him  no  farther.  What  he 
did  learn  was  a  story  of  silent,  bitter  rivalry  between  this 
brother  and  Christian,  who  seemed  to  Wolfgang  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  himself  to  an  incomprehensible  degree.  He  heard  a 
story  of  doubt  and  complaint  and  scorn,  and  of  words  that 
the* mother  of  the  two  had  uttered  to  a  stranger:  "  You  don't 
know  my  son  Christian?  He  is  the  most  precious  thing  God 
ever  made." 

It  was  cheap  enough,  Wolfgang  asserted,  to  praise  a  horse 
in  the  stable,  one  that  had  never  been  sent  to  the  Derby 
because  it  was  thought  to  be  too  noble  and  precious.  Crammon 
was  amused  by  the  sporting  simile.  Why  was  that  cheap,  he 
asked,  and  what  was  its  exact  meaning? 

Wolfgang  said  that  it  applied  to  Christian,  who  had  as  yet 
proved  himself  in  no  way,  nor  accomplished  anything  despite 
his  twenty- three  years.  He  had  passed  his  final  examinations 
at  college  with  difficulty;  he  was  no  luminary  in  any  respect. 
No  one  could  deny  that  he  had  an  admirable  figure,  an  elegant 
air,  a  complexion  like  milk  and  blood.  He  had  also,  it  was 
not  to  be  denied,  a  charm  so  exquisite  that  no  man  or  woman 
could  withstand  him.  But  he  was  cold  as  a  hound's  nose  and 
smooth  as  an  eel,  and  as  immeasurably  spoiled  and  arrogant 
as  though  the  whole  world  had  been  made  for  his  sole 
benefit. 

"  You  will  succumb  to  him  as  every  one  does,"  Wolfgang 
said  finally,  and  there  was  something  almost  like  hatred  in  his 
voice. 


26  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

They  arrived  in  Waldleiningen  on  a  rainy  evening  of  October. 
The  house  was  full  of  guests. 

vn 

Wolfgang's  prediction  came  true  sooner  than  he  himself 
would  perhaps  have  thought.  As  .early  as  the  third  day 
Crammon  and  Christian  Wahnschaffe  were  inseparable  and 
utterly  united.  They  conversed  with  an  air  of  intimacy  as 
though  they  had  known  each  other  for  years.  The  difference 
of  almost  two  decades  in  their,  ages  seemed  simply  non-existent. 

With  a  laugh  Crammon  reminded  Wolfgang  of  his  prophecy, 
and  added,  "  I  hope  that  nothing  worse  will  ever  be  predicted 
to  me,  and  that  delightful  things  will  always  become  realities 
so  promptly."  And  he  knocked  wood,  for  he  was  as  super" 
stitious  as  an  old  wife. 

Wolfgang's  expression  seemed  to  say:  I  was  quite  prepared 
for  it.  What  else  is  one  to  expect? 

Crammon  had  expected  to  find  Christian  spoiled  and  effem- 
inate. Instead  he  saw  a  thoroughly  healthy  blond  young 
athlete,  a  head  and  more  taller  than  himself,  conscious  of  his 
vigour  and  beauty,  without  a  trace  of  vanity,  and  radiant  in 
every  mood.  It  was  true,  as  he  had  heard,  that  all  were 
at  his  beck  and  call,  from  his  mother  to  the  youngest  of  the 
grooms,  and  that  he  accepted  everything  as  he  did  fair  weather 
— simply,  lightly,  and  graciously,  but  without  binding  himself 
to  any  reciprocal  obligation. 

Crammon  loved  young  men  who  were  as  elastic  as  panthers 
and  whose  serenity  transformed  the  moods  of  others  as  a 
precious  aroma  does  the  air  of  a  sick  room.  Such  youths 
seemed  to  him  to  be  gifted  with  an  especial  grace.  One  should, 
he  held,  clear  their  path  of  anything  that  might  hinder  their 
beneficent  mission.  He  did  not  strive  to  impress  them  but 
rather  to  learn  of  them. 

It  was  in  England  and  among  the  English  that  he  had  found 
this  respect  for  youth  and  ripening  manhood,  which  had  long 


CHRISTIAN'S   REST  27 

become  a  principle  with  him  and  a  rule  of  life.  The  climate 
of  a  perfectly  nurtured  understanding  he  thought  the  fittest 
atmosphere  for  such  a  being,  and  made  his  plans  in  secret. 
He  thought  of  the  grand  tour  in  the  sense  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  with  himself  in  the  role  of  mentor  and  guide. 

In  the  meantime  he  and  Christian  talked  about  hunting, 
trout-fishing,  the  various  ways  of  preparing  venison,  the  advan- 
tages of  each  season  over  the  others,  the  numerous  charms  of 
the  female  sex,  the  amusing  characteristics  of  common 
acquaintances.  And  of  all  these  light  things  he  spoke  in  a 
thoughtful  manner  and  with  exhausting  thoroughness. 

He  could  not  see  Christian  without  reflecting:  What  eyes 
and  teeth  and  head  and  limbs!  Nature  has  here  used  her 
choicest  substance,  meant  for  permanence  as  well  as  delight, 
and  a  master  has  fitted  the  parts  into  harmony.  If  one  were 
a  mean-spirited  fellow  one  could  burst  with  envy. 

One  incident  charmed  him  so  much  that  he  felt  impelled  to 
communicate  his  delight  to  the  others  who  had  also  wit- 
nessed it.  It  took  place  in  the  yard  where  early  in  the  morn- 
ing the  hunting  parties  assembled.  The  dogs  were  to  be 
leashed.  Christian  stood  alone  among  twenty-three  mastiffs 
who  leaped  around  and  at  him  with  deafening  barks  and  yells. 
He  swung  a  short-handled  whip  which  whirred  above  their 
heads.  The  beasts  grew  wilder ;  he  had  to  ward  off  the  fiercer 
ones  with  his  elbow.  The  forester  wanted  to  come  to  his  help 
and  called  to  the  raging  pack.  Christian  beckoned  him  to 
stay  back.  The  man's  assumed  anger  and  all  his  gestures 
irritated  the  dogs.  One  of  them,  whose  mouth  was  flecked 
with  foam,  snapped  at  Christian,  and  the  sharp  teeth  clung  to 
his  shoulder.  Then  all  cried  out,  especially  Judith.  But 
Christian  gave  a  short  sharp  whistle  from  between  his  teeth, 
his  arms  dropped,  his  glance  held  the  dogs  nearest  to  him,  and 
suddenly  the  noise  stopped,  and  only  those  in  front  gave  a 
humble  whine. 

Frau  Wahnschaffe  had  grown  pale.     She  approached  her 


28  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

son  and  asked  him  whether  he  was  hurt.  He  was  not,  although 
his  jacket  showed  a  long  rent. 

"  He  leads  a  charmed  life,"  she  said  that  night  after  dinner 
to  Crammon,  with  whom  she  had  withdrawn  to  a  quiet  corner. 
"  And  that  is  my  one  consolation.  His  utter  recklessness  often 
frightens  me.  I  have  noticed  with  pleasure  that  you  take  an 
interest  in  him.  Do  try  to  guide  him  a  little  along  reasonable 
ways." 

Her  voice  was  hollow  and  her  face  immobile.  Her  eyes  stared 
past  one.  She  knew  no  cares  and  had  never  known  any,  nor 
had  she,  apparently,  ever  reflected  concerning  those  of  others. 
Yet  no  one  had  ever  seen  this  woman  smile.  The  utter  absence 
of  friction  in  her  life  seemed  to  have  reduced  the  motions  of  her 
soul  to  a  point  of  deadness.  Only  the  thought  of  Christian  gave 
her  whole  being  a  shade  of  warmth ;  only  when  she  could  speak 
of  him  did  she  grow  eloquent. 

Crammon  answered:  "  My  dear  lady,  it  is  better  to  leave  a 
fellow  like  Christian  to  his  own  fate.  That  is  his  best  protec- 
tion." 

She  nodded,  although  she  disliked  the  colloquial  carelessness 
of  his  speech.  She  told  him  how  in  his  boyhood  Christian  had 
once  gone  to  visit  the  lumbermen  in  the  forest.  The  trunk  of  a 
mighty  pine  had  been  almost  cut  through,  and  the  men  ran  to 
the  end  of  the  rope  attached  to  the  tree's  top.  The  great  tree 
wavered  when  they  first  noticed'  the  boy.  They  cried  out  in 
horror,  and  tried  to  let  the  tree  crash  down  in  another  direction. 
It  was  too  late.  And  while  some  tugged  desperately  at  the 
rope  and  were  beside  themselves  with  fright,  a  few  headed  by 
the  foreman  ran  with  lifted  and  warning  arms  into  the  very 
sphere  of  danger.  The  boy  stood  there  quietly,  and  gazed 
unsuspectingly  upward.  The  tree  fell  and  crushed  the  fore- 
man to  death.  But  the  branches  slipped  gently  over  Christian 
as  if  to  caress  him;  and  when  the  pine  lay  upon  the  earth,  he 
stood  in  the  midst  of  its  topmost  twigs  as  though  he  had 
been  placed  there,  untouched  and  unastonished.  And  those  who 


CHRISTIAN'S   REST  29 

were  there  said  he  had  been  saved  literally  but  by  the  breadth 
of  a  hair. 

Crammon  could  not  get  rid  of  the  vision  which  he  himself 
had  seen:  the  proud  young  wielder  of  the  whip  amid  the 
unleashed  pack.  He  reflected  deeply.  "  It  is  clear,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "  that  I  need  no  longer  go  to  Cordova  to  find  out 
how  the  young  muleteers  laugh." 

vm 

At  the  castle  of  Waldleiningen  there  was  a  wine  room  in 
which  one  could  drink  comfortably.  In  it  Crammon  and 
Christian  drank  one  evening  to  their  deeper  friendship.  And 
when  the  bottle  was  emptied  of  its  precious  vintage  Crammon 
proposed  that,  since  it  was  a  beautiful  night,  they  should  take 
a  turn  in  the  park.  Christian  agreed. 

In  the  moonlight  they  walked  over  the  pebbles  of  the  paths. 
Trees  and  bushes  swam  in  a  silvery  haze. 

"  Gossamers  and  the  mist  of  autumn,"  said  Crammon. 
"  Quite  as  the  poets  describe  it." 

"What  poet?  "  Christian  asked  innocently.. 

"  Almost  any,"  Crammon  answered. 

"  Do  you  read  poetry?  "  Christian  was  curious. 

"Now  and  then,"  Crammon  answered,  "when  prose  gets 
stale.  Thus  I  pay  my  debts  to  the  world-spirit." 

They  sat  down  on  a  bench  under  a  great  plantain.  Christian 
watched  the  scene  silently  for  a  while.  Then  he  asked  sud- 
denly, "  Tell  me,  Bernard,  what  is  this  seriousness  of  life  that 
most  people  make  such  a  fuss  about?  " 

Crammon  laughed  softly  to  himself.  "  Patience,  my  dear 
boy,  patience!  You'll  find  out  for  yourself." 

He  laughed  again  and  folded  his  hands  comfortably  over  his 
abdomen.  But  over  the  lovely  landscape  and  the  lovely  night 
there  fell  a  veil  of  melancholy. 


30  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

IX 

Christian  wanted  Crammon  to  accompany  him  and  Alfred 
Meerholz,  the  general's  son,  to  St.  Moritz  for  the  winter  sports; 
but  Crammon  had  to  attend  Konrad  von  Westernach's  wedding 
in  Vienna.  So  they  agreed  to  meet  in  Wiesbaden,  where  Frau 
Wahnschaffe  and  Judith  would  join  them  in  the  spring. 

Frau  Wahnschaffe  usually  spent  January  and  February  in 
the  family's  ancestral  home  at  Wiirzburg.  She  had  many 
guests  there  and  so  did  not  feel  the  boredom  of  the  provincial 
city.  Wolfgang  had  been  studying  political  science  at  the 
university  there;  but  at  the  end  of  the  semester  he  was  to  go 
to  Berlin,  pass  his  examination  for  the  doctorate,  and  enter 
the  ministry  of  foreign  affairs.  Judith  said  to  him  sarcas- 
tically: "  You  are  a  born  diplomatist  of  the  new  school.  The 
moment  you  enter  a  room  no  one  dares  to  jest  any  more. 
It's  high  time  that  you  enlarge  your  sphere  of  activity."  He 
answered:  "  You  are  right.  I  know  that  I  shall  yield  my 
place  to  a  worthier  one  who  knows  better  how  to  amuse  you." 
"  You  are  bitter,"  Judith  replied,  "  but  what  you  say  is  true." 

When  Christian  arrived  in  Wiesbaden  in  April  his  mother 
introduced  him  to  the  Countess  Brainitz  and  to  her  niece, 
Letitia  von  Febronius.  The  countess  was  ostensibly  here  to 
drink  the  waters;  but  her  purpose  was  commonly  thought  to 
be  the  finding  of  a  suitable  match  for  her  niece  among  the 
young  men  of  the  country.  She  had  succeeded,  at  all  events, 
in  gaining  the  confidence  of  Frau  Wahnschaffe,  who  was  dis- 
trustful and  inaccessible.  Judith  was  charmed  by  Letitia's 
loveliness. 

Christian  accompanied  the  young  ladies  on  their  walks  and 
rides,  and  the  countess  said  to  Letitia:  "  If  I  were  you  I'd  fall 
in  love  with  that  young  man."  Letitia  answered  with  her  most 
soulful  expression:  "  If  I  were  you,  aunt,  I'd  be  afraid  of 
doing  so  myself." 

Crammon  arrived  in  an  evil  mood.    Whenever  one  of  his 


CHRISTIAN'S   REST  31 

friends  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  marry,  there  came  over  him 
an  insidious  hatred  of  mankind  which  darkened  his  soul  for 
weeks. 

He  was  surprised  when  Christian  told  him  of  these  new 
friends,  and  wondered  at  the  trick  by  which  fate  brought 
him  into  the  circle  of  Letitia's  life.  He  had  a  feeling  that  was 
uncanny. 

He  was  anything  but  delighted  over  the  Countess  Brainitz. 
He  was  familiar  with  the  genealogy  and  history  of  the  dead 
and  living  members  of  all  the  noble  families  of  Europe,  and 
so  was  thoroughly  informed  concerning  her.  "  In  her  youth," 
he  reported,  "  she  was  an  actress,  one  of  those  favourite  in- 
genues who  attune  souls  of  a  certain  sort  poetically  by  a  stri- 
dent blondness  and  by  pulling  at  their  aprons  with  touching 
bashfulness.  With  these  tricks  she  seduced  in  his  time  Count 
Brainitz,  a  gentleman  who  had  weak  brains  and  a  vigorous 
case  of  gout.  She  thought  he  was  rich.  Later  it  turned  out 
that  he  was  hopelessly  in  debt  and  lived  on  a  pension  allowed 
him  by  the  head  of  the  house.  On  his  death  this  pension 
passed  to  her." 

She  was  blond  no  longer.  Her  hair  was  white  and  had  a 
metallic  shimmer  like  spun  glass.  Its  hue  was  premature, 
no  doubt,  for  she  was  scarcely  over  fifty.  She  was  corpulent; 
her  body  had  a  curious  sort  of  carved  rotundity;  her  face  was 
like  an  apple  in  its  smooth  roundness ;  it  gleamed  with  a  healthy 
reddish  tinge;  and  each  feature — nose,  mouth,  chin,  forehead — 
was  characterized  by  a  certain  harmless  daintiness. 

From  the  first  moment  she  and  Crammon  found  themselves 
hopelessly  at  odds.  She  clasped  her  hands  in  despair  over 
everything  he  said,  and  all  his  doings  enraged  her.  With  her 
feminine  instinct  she  scented  in  him  the  adversary  of  all  her 
cunning  plans;  he  saw  in  her  another  of  those  arch  enemies 
that,  from  time  to  time,  spun  for  one  of  his  friends  the  net 
of  marriage. 

She  asked  him  to  dine  merely  because  of  Letitia's  insistence. 


32  THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

The  girl  explained:  "  Even  if  you  don't  like  him  in  other 
ways,  aunt,  you'll  approve  of  him  as  a  guest.  He's  very  like 
you  in  one  way."  But  Crammon's  dislike  of  the  countess 
robbed  him  of  his  usual  appetite,  so  that  the  reconciliation 
even  on  that  plane  did  not  occur.  She  herself  ate  three  eggs 
with  mayonnaise,  half  of  a  duck,  a  large  portion  of  roast  beef, 
four  pieces  of  pastry,  a  plate  full  of  cherries,  and  additional 
trifles  to  pass  the  time.  Crammon  was  overwhelmed. 

After  each  course  she  washed  her  hands  with  meticulous 
care,  and  when  the  meal  was  over  drew  her  snow-white  gloves 
over  her  little,  round  fingers. 

"  All  people  are  pigs,"  she  declared.  "  Nothing  they  come  in 
contact  with  remains  clean.  I  guard  myself  as  well  as  I  can." 

Letitia  sat  through  it  all  smiling  in  her  own  arch  and  tender 
way,  and  her  mere  presence  lent  to  the  common  things  about 
her  a  breath  of  romance. 


Her  estate  having  finally  been  sold  at  auction,  and  she 
herself  being  quite  without  means,  Frau  von  Febronius  had 
gone  to  live  with  her  younger  sister  at  Stargard  in  Pom- 
erania.  In  order  to  spare  her  daughter  the  spectacle  of  that 
final  debacle  she  had  sent  the  girl  to  the  countess  in  Weimar. 

The  three  sisters  were  all  widowed.  The  one  in  Stargard 
had  been  married  to  a  circuit  judge  named  Stojenthin.  She 
lived  on  her  government  pension  and  the  income  of  a  small 
fortune  that  had  been  her  dowry.  She  had  two  sons  who 
strolled  through  the  world  like  gipsies,  wrapped  their  sloth  in 
a  loud  philosophy,  and  turned  to  their  aunt  the  countess 
whenever  they  were  quite  at  the  end  of  all  their  resources. 

The  countess  yielded  every  time.  Both  young  men  knew  the 
style  of  letter-writing  that  really  appealed  to  her.  "  They  will 
get  over  sowing  their  wild  oats,"  said  the  countess.  She  had 
been  awaiting  that  happy  consummation  for  years,  and  in  the 
meantime  sent  them  food  and  money. 


CHRISTIAN'S    REST  33 

It  was  not  so  simple  to  help  Letitia.  When  the  girl  arrived 
she  possessed  just  three  frocks  which  she  had  outgrown  and  a 
little  linen.  The  countess  ordered  robes  from  Vienna,  and 
fitted  out  her  niece  like  an  heiress. 

Letitia  permitted  herself  calmly  to  be  adorned.  The  eyes 
of  men  told  her  that  she  was  charming.  The  countess  said: 
"  You  are  destined  for  great  things,  my  darling."  She  took 
the  girl's  head  between  her  two  gloved  hands  and  kissed  her 
audibly  on  the  porcelain  clearness  of  her  forehead. 

Nor  was  she  satisfied  with  what  she  had  done.  She  desired 
to  create  a  solid  foundation  and  help  her  niece  in  a  permanent 
way.  That  desire  brought  to  her  mind  the  forest  of  Heiligen- 
kreuz. 

On  the  northern  slope  of  the  Rohn  mountains  there  was  a 
piece  of  forest  land  having  an  area  of  from  ten  to  twelve  square 
kilometres.  For  more  than  two  decades  it  had  been  the 
subject  of  litigation  between  her  late  husband  and  the  head  of 
his  house.  The  litigation  was  still  going  on.  It  had  swal- 
lowed huge  sums  and  the  countess'  prospects  of  winning  were 
slight.  Nevertheless  she  felt  herself  to  be  the  future  owner  of 
the  forest,  and  was  so  certain  of  her  title  that  she  determined 
to  present  the  forest  to  Letitia  as  a  dowry  and  to  record  this 
gift  in  proper  legal  form. 

One  evening  she  entered  Letitia's  bedroom  with  a  written 
document  in  her  hand.  Over  her  filmy  night  dress  she  wore  a 
heavy  coat  of  Russian  sable  and  on  her  head  she  had  a  rubber 
cap  which  was  to  protect  her  from  the  bacilli  which,  in  her 
opinion,  whirred  about  in  the  darkness  like  bats. 

"  Take  this  and  read  it,  my  child,"  she  said  with  emotion, 
and  handed  Letitia  the  document  according  to  which,  at  the 
end  of  the  pending  lawsuit,  the  forest  of  Heiligenkreuz  was  to 
become  the  sole  property  of  Letitia  von  Febronius. 

Letitia  knew  the  circumstances  and  the  probable  value  of 
the  piece  of  paper.  But  she  also  knew  that  the  countess  had  no 
desire  to  deceive  any  one,  but  was  honestly  convinced  of  the 


34  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

importance  of  the  gift.  So  she  exerted  her  mind  and  her  tact 
to  exhibit  a  genuine  delight.  She  leaned  her  cheek  against 
the  mighty  bosom  of  the  countess  and  whispered  entrancingly: 
"  You  are  inexpressibly  kind,  auntie.  You  really  force  a  con- 
fession from  me." 

"  What  is  it,  darling?  " 

"  I  find  life  so  wonderful  and  so  lovely." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  that's  what  I  want  you  to  do,"  said  the 
countess.  "  When  one  is  young  each  day  should  be  like  a 
bunch  of  freshly  picked  violets.  It  was  so  in  my  case." 

"  I  believe,"  Letitia  answered,  "  that  my  life  will  always  be 
like  that." 

XI 

In  the  vicinity  of  Konigstein  in  the  Taunus  mountains  the 
Wahnschaffes  owned  a  little  chateau  which  Frau  Wahnschaffe 
called  Christian's  Rest  and  which  was  really  the  property  of 
her  son.  At  first — he  was  still  a  boy — Christian  had  protested 
against  the  name.  "  I  don't  need  any  rest,"  he  had  said. 
And  the  mother  had  answered:  "  Some  day  the  need  of  it  will 
come  to  you." 

Frau  Wahnschaffe  invited  the  countess  to  pass  the  month  of 
May  at  Christian's  Rest.  It  was  a  charming  bit  of  country, 
and  the  delight  of  the  countess  was  uttered  noisily. 

Crammon,  of  course,  came  too.  He  observed  the  countess 
with  Argus  eyes,  and  it  annoyed  him  to  watch  the  frequent 
conversations  between  Christian  and  Letitia. 

He  sat  by  the  fishpond  holding  his  short,  English  pipe  be- 
tween his  lips.  "  We  must  get  to  Paris.  That  was  our  agree- 
ment. You  know  that  I  promised  you  Eva  Sorel.  If  you 
don't  hurry  more  than  fame  is  doing,  you'll  be  left  out  in  the 
cold." 

"  Time  enough,"  Christian  answered  laughing  and  pulling  a 
reed  from  the  water. 

"  Only  sluggards  say  that,"  Crammon  grunted,  "  and  it's  the 


CHRISTIAN'S    REST  35 

act  of  a  sluggard  to  turn  the  head  of  a  little  goose  of  eighteen 
and  finally  to  be  taken  in  by  her.  These  young  girls  of  good 
family  are  fit  for  nothing  in  the  world  except  for  some  poor 
devil  whose  debts  they  can  pay  after  the  obligatory  walk  to 
church.  Their  manipulations  aren't  nearly  as  harmless  as  they 
seem,  especially  when  the  girls  have  chaperones  who  are  so 
damnably  like  procuresses  that  the  difference  is  less  than  be- 
tween my  waistcoat  buttons  and  my  breeches  buttons." 

"  Don't  worry,"  Christian  soothed  his  angry  friend. 
"  There's  nothing  to  fear." 

He  threw  himself  in  the  grass  and  thought  of  Adda  Castillo, 
the  beautiful  lion- tamer  whom  he  had  met  in  Frankfort. 
She  had  told  him  she  would  be  in  Paris  in  June,  and  he  meant 
to  stay  here  until  then.  He  liked  her.  She  was  so  wild  and  so 
cold. 

But  he  liked  Letitia  too.  She  was  so  dewy  and  so  tender. 
Dewy  is  what  he  called  the  liquidness  of  her  eyes,  the  evasive- 
ness of  her  being.  Daily  in  the  morning  he  heard  her  in  her 
tower-room  trilling  like  a  lark. 

He  said:  "  To-morrow,  Bernard,  we'll  take  the  car  and  drive 
over  to  see  Adda  Castillo  and  her  lions." 

"  Splendid!  "  Crammon  answered.  "  Lions,  that's  something 
for  me!  "  And  he  gave  Christian  a  comradely  thwack  on  the 
shoulder. 

XII 

Judith  took  Letitia  with  her  to  Homburg,  and  they  visited 
the  fashionable  shops.  The  rich  girl  bought  whatever  stirred 
her  fancy,  and  from  time  to  time  she  turned  to  her  friend  and 
said:  "  Would  you  like  that?  Do  try  it  on!  It  suits  you 
charmingly."  Suddenly  Letitia  saw  herself  overwhelmed  with 
presents;  and  if  she  made  even  a  gesture  of  hesitation,  Judith 
was  hurt. 

They  crossed  the  market-place.  Letitia  loved  cherries.'  But 
when  they  came  to  the  booth  of  the  huckstress,  Judith  pushed 


36  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

forward  and  began  to  chaffer  with  the  woman  because  she 
thought  the  cherries  too  dear.  The  woman  insisted  on  her 
price,  and  Judith  drew  Letitia  commandingly  away. 

She  asked  her :  "  What  do  you  think  of  my  brother  Chris- 
tian? Is  he  very  nice  to  you?  "  She  encouraged  Letitia,  who 
was  frank,  gave  her  advice  and  told  her  stories  of  the  adven- 
tures that  Christian  had  had  with  women.  His  friends  had 
often  entertained  her  with  these  romances. 

But  when  Letitia,  rocked  into  security  by  such  sincere  sym- 
pathy, blushed,  and  first  in  silence  and  with  lowered  eyes,  later 
in  sweet,  low  words,  confessed  something  of  her  feeling  for 
Christian,  Judith's  mouth  showed  an  edge  of  scorn;  she  threw 
back  her  head  and  showed  the  arrogance  of  a  family  that 
deemed  itself  a  race  of  kings. 

Letitia  felt  that  she  had  permitted  herself  to  slip  into  a 
net.  She  guarded  herself  more  closely,  and  Crammon's  warn- 
ings would  have  been  needed  no  longer. 

He  offered  her  many.  He  sought  to  inspire  in  her  a  whole- 
some fear  of  the  bravery  of  youth,  to  attune  her  mood  to  the 
older  vintages  among  men  who  alone  could  offer  a  woman  pro- 
tection and  reliance.  He  was  neither  so  clever  nor  so  subtle  as 
he  thought. 

With  all  his  Jesuitical  cultivation,  in  the  end  he  felt  that 
something  about  this  girl  knocked  at  his  heart.  No  posing  to 
himself  helped.  His  thought  spun  an  annoying  web.  Was  he 
to  prove  the  truth  of  the  foolish  old  legend  concerning  the 
voice  of  the  blood?  Then  he  must  escape  from  this  haunted 
place! 

Letitia  laughed  at  him.  She  said:  "  I'm  only  laughing  be- 
cause I  feel  that  way,  Crammon,  and  because  the  sky  to-day 
is  so  blue.  Do  you  understand?  " 

"  O  nymph."  sighed  Crammon.  "  I  am  a  poor  sinner."  And 
he  slunk  away. 


CHRISTIAN'S   REST  37 

xni 

Frau  Wahnschaffe  had  decided  to  arrange  a  spring  festival. 
It  was  to  illustrate  all  the  splendour  which  was,  on  such  occa- 
sions, traditional  in  the  house  of  Wahnschaffe.  Councils  were 
held  in  which  the  major-domo,  the  housekeeper,  the  mistress' 
companion  and  the  countess  took  part.  Frau  Wahnschaffe 
presided  at  the  sessions  with  the  severity  of  a  judge.  The 
countess  was  interested  principally  in  the  question  of  food  and 
drink. 

"  My  own  darling,"  she  said  to  Letitia,  "  seventy-five  lobsters 
have  been  ordered,  and  two  hundred  bottles  of  champagne 
brought  up  from  the  cellar.  I  am  completely  overwhelmed. 
I  haven't  been  so  overwhelmed  since  my  wedding." 

Letitia  stood  there  in  her  slenderness  and  smiled.  The 
words  of  the  countess  were  music  to  her.  She  wanted  to  lend 
wings  to  the  days  that  still  separated  her  from  the  festival. 
She  trembled  whenever  a  cloud  floated  across  the  sky. 

Often  she  scarcely  knew  how  to  muffle  the  jubilation  in  her 
own  heart.  How  wonderful,  she  thought,  that  one  feels  what 
one  feels  and  that  things  really  are  as  they  are.  No  poet's 
verse,  no  painter's  vision  could  vie  with  the  power  of  her 
imagination,  which  made  all  happenings  pure  gold  and  was 
impenetrable  to  the  shadow  of  disappointment.  Her  life  was 
rich — a  pure  gift  of  fate. 

She  merged  into  one  the  boundaries  of  dream  and  reality. 
She  made  up  her  mind  to  dream  as  other  people  determine 
to  take  a  walk,  and  the  dim  and  lawless  character  of  her  dream 
world  seemed  utterly  natural. 

One  day  she  spoke  of  a  book  that  she  had  read.  "  It  is 
beautiful  beyond  belief."  She  described  the  people,  the  scene, 
and  the  moving  fortunes  of  the  book  with  such  intensity  and 
enthusiasm  that  all  who  heard  her  were  anxious  to  find  the 
book.  But  she  knew  neither  its  title  nor  the  name  of  the 
author.  They  asked  her:  "Where  is  the  book?  Where  did 


38  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

you  get  it?  When  did  you  read  it?  "  "  Yesterday,"  she  re- 
plied. "  It  must  be  somewhere  about."  She  hesitated.  She 
was  begged  to  find  it.  And  while  she  seemed  to  be  reflecting 
helplessly,  Judith  said  to  her:  "  Perhaps  you  only  dreamed  it 
all."  She  cast  down  her  eyes  and  crossed  her  arms  over  her 
bosom  with  an  inimitable  gesture  and  answered  with  a  sense 
of  guilt:  "  Yes,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  did  merely  dream  it  all." 

Christian  asked  Crammon:  "  Do  you  think  that's  mere 
affectation?  " 

"  Not  that,"  answered  Crammon,  "  and  yet  a  bit  of  feminine 
trickery.  God  has  provided  this  sex  with  many  dazzling 
weapons  wherewith  to  overthrow  us." 

On  the  day  of  the  festival  Letitia  wore  a  gown  of  white  silk. 
It  was  a  little  dancing  frock  with  many  delicate  pleats  in  the 
skirt  and  a  dark  blue  sash  about  her  hips.  It  looked  like  the 
foam  of  fresh  milk.  When  she  looked  into  the  mirror  she 
smiled  excitedly  as  though  she  could  not  believe  her  eyes.  The 
countess  ran  about  behind  her  and  said:  "  Darling,  be  careful 
of  yourself!  "  But  Letitia  did, not  know  what  she  meant. 

There  was  a  sense  of  intoxication  in  her  when  she  spoke  to 
the  men  and  women  and  girls.  She  had  always  been  fond  of 
people;  to-day  they  seemed  irresistible  to  her.  When  she  met 
Judith  in  front  of  the  pavillion,  which  was  bathed  in  light,  she 
pressed  her  hands  and  whispered:  "  Could  life  be  more  beauti- 
ful? I  am  frightened  to  think  this  night  must  end." 

xrv 

On  the  meadow  in  front  of  the  artificial  water-fall  Christian 
and  some  young  girls  were  playing  hide  and  seek  after  the 
manner  of  children.  They  all  laughed  as  they  played;  young 
men  formed  a  circle  about  them,  and  watched  them  half 
mockingly  and  half  amused. 

In  the  dark  trees  hung  electric  bulbs  of  green  glass  which 
were  so  well  concealed  that  the  sward  seemed  to  glow  with  a 
light  of  its  own. 


CHRISTIAN'S   REST  39 

Christian  played  the  game  with  a  carelessness  that  annoyed 
his  partners.  The  girls  wanted  it  to  be  taken  more  seriously, 
and  it  vexed  them  that,  in  spite  of  his  inattention,  he  caught 
them  with  such  ease.  The  young  sister  of  Meerholz  was  among 
them,  and  Sidonie  von  Groben,  and  the  beautiful  Fraulein  von 
Einsiedel. 

Letitia  joined  them.  She  went  to  the  middle  of  the  open 
space.  She  let  Christian  come  quite  near  her.  Then  she 
eluded  him  more  swiftly  than  he  had  thought  possible.  He 
turned  to  the  others,  but  always  Letitia 'fluttered  in  front  of 
him.  He  sought  to  grasp  her,  but  she  was  just  beyond  him. 
Once  he  drove  her  against  the  box-tree  hedge,  but  she  slipped 
into  the  foliage  and  was  gone.  Her  movements,  her  running 
and  turning,  her  merry  passion  had  something  fascinating;  she 
called  from  the  greenery  with  the  little,  laughing  cries  of  a  bird. 
Now  he  lay  in  wait  for  her,  and  the  onlookers  became  curious. 

When  she  reappeared  he  feigned  not  to  see  her,  but  sud- 
denly he  sped  with  incredible  swiftness  to  the  edge  of  the 
fountain's  basin  where  she  stood.  But  she  was  a  shade  swifter 
still  and  leapt  upon  the  rock,  since  all  the  other  ways  were 
blocked,  and  jumped  across  the  water  lightly  from  stone  to 
stone.  Her  frock  with  its  delicate  pleats  and  loose  sleeves 
fluttered  behind  her,  and  when  Christian  started  in  pursuit 
those  below  applauded. 

Above  it  was  dark.  Letitia's  shoes  became  wet  and  her 
foot  slipped.  But  before  Christian  could  grasp  her  she  swung 
herself  upon  a  huge  boulder  between  two  tall  pines  as  though 
to  defend  herself  there  or  else  climb  still  farther.  But  her 
footing  failed  her  on  the  damp  moss  and  she  uttered  a  little 
cry,  for  she  knew  that  he  had  caught  her  now. 

He  had  caught  her,  caught  her  as  she  .ell,  and  now  held  her 
in  his  arms.  She  was  very  quiet  and  tried  to  calm  her  flutter- 
ing breath.  Christian  was  breathing  heavily  too,  and  he 
wondered  why  the  girl  was  so  still  and  silent.  He  felt  her 
lovely  form  and  drew  her  a  little  closer  with  that  suppressed 


40  THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

laughter  of  his  that  sounded  so  cold  and  arrogant.  The 
moonlight  poured  through  the  branches  and  made  his  face 
seem  of  an  extraordinary  beauty.  Letitia  saw  his  strong,  white 
teeth  gleam.  She  slipped  from  his  arms,  and  put  her  own  right 
arm  about  the  trunk  of  one  of  the  trees. 

Here  was  all  that  she  had  dreamed  of.  Here  was  the 
breath  of  danger  and  the  breath  of  desire,  a  wilderness  and  a 
moonlit  night,  distant  music  and  a  secret  meeting.  But  her 
blood  was  quiet,  for  she  was  still  a  child. 

Christian  looked  at  the  girl  pliant  against  the  tree;  he 
saw  her  dishevelled  hair,  her  dewy  eyes  and  lips;  his  eyes 
followed  the  lines  of  her  body  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
could  taste  the  coolness  of  her  skin  and  the  sweetness  of  her 
innocent  breath.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  take  possession  of  his 
booty. 

Swiftly  he  sought  her  hand,  when  suddenly  he  became  aware 
of  a  toad  that  with  loathsome  sloth  crept  along  Letitia's  white 
frock,  first  across  its  hem,  then  upward  toward  her  hip.  He 
grew  pale  and  turned  away.  "  The  others  are  waiting.  We 
had  better  turn  back,"  he  said  and  began  to  climb  downward. 

Letitia  followed  his  movements  with  staring  eyes.  The  fiery 
emotion  which  had  transformed  her  to  her  own  vision  into  a 
fairy  being,  a  Diana  or  Melusina,  turned  to  pain  and  she  began 
to  weep.  She  did  not  know  how  to  interpret  what  had  hap- 
pened, and  her  sorrow  lasted  until,  by  a  fanciful  but  charming 
explanation,  she  had  made  it  not  more  intelligible  but  more  con- 
soling in  its  character.  Then  she  dried  her  tears  and  smiled 
again. 

When  Letitia  arose  the  toad  jumped  into  the  moss.  There 
was  no  sound. 

XV 

On  the  afternoon  before  the  departure  of  Crammon  and 
Christian  there  was  a  violent  thunder  storm.  The  two  men 
paced  up  and  down  in  the  upper  corridor  of  the  chateau  and 


CHRISTIAN'S    REST  41 

discussed  their  plans.  In  a  pause  between  two  peals  of  thunder 
Crammon  listened  and  said:  "  What  a  queer  noise.  Did  you 
hear  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  Christian  answered  and  they  followed  the  direction 
of  the  sound. 

At  the  end  of  the  gallery  was  a  mirrored  hall,  the  doors 
of  which  were  ajar.  Crammon  opened  the  door  a  little  wider, 
peered  in  and  laughed  softly  in  his  throat.  Christian  peered 
in  too,  above  Crammon's  head,  and  joined  in  the  laughter. 

On  the  brilliantly  polished  floor  of  the  room,  which  contained 
no  furniture  except  a  few  couches  and  armchairs  ranged 
along  the  walls,  Letitia  stood  in  little  blue  slippers  and  a  pale 
blue  gown  and  played  at  ball.  Her  face  had  an  expression 
of  ecstasy.  The  all  but  uninterrupted  lightning  that  turned 
the  mirrors  into  yellow  flame  gave  her  play  a  ghostliness  of 
aspect. 

Now  she  would  toss  the  ball  straight  up,  now  she  would 
throw  it  against  the  wall  between  the  mirrors  and  catch  it  as 
it  rebounded.  At  times  she  let  it  fall  on  the  floor  and  clapped 
her  hands  or  spread  out  her  arms  until  it  leaped  up  to  be 
caught  again.  She  turned  and  bent  over  and  threw  back  her 
head,  or  advanced  a  step  or  whispered,  always  smiling  and 
utterly  absorbed.  After  the  two  had  watched  her  for  a  while, 
Crammon  drew  Christian  away,  for  the  lightning  made  him 
nervous.  He  hated  an  electrical  storm  and  had  chosen  to  walk 
in  the  gallery  to  escape  it.  He  now  lit  his  short  pipe  and  asked 
peevishly:  "  Do  you  understand  the  girl?  " 

Christian  made  no  answer.  Something  lured  him  back  to 
the  threshold  of  the  hall  in  which  Letitia  was  playing  her 
solitary  game.  But  he  remembered  the  toad  on  her  white  dress, 
and  a  strange  aversion  arose  in  his  heart. 

XVI 

He  did  not  love  the  memory  of  unpleasant  events. 

He  did  not  like  to  speak  of  the  past,  whether  it  was  pleasant 


42  THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

or  not.  Nor  did  it  please  him  to  turn  back  upon  a  path.  If 
ever  it  became  necessary  he  soon  grew  weary. 

He  did  not  care  for  people  whose  faces  showed  the  strain  of 
intellectual  labour,  nor  such  as  discoursed  of  books  or  of  the 
sciences.  Nor  did  he  love  the  pale  or  the  hectic  or  the  over- 
eager  or  those  who  argued  or  insisted  on  the  Tightness  of  their 
opinions.  If  any  one  defended  an  opinion  opposed  to  his  own 
he  smiled  as  courteously  as  though  no  difference  existed.  And 
it  was  painful  to  him  to  be  asked  concerning  his  opinion 
directly,  and  rather  than  bear  the  burden  of  a  speech  of 
explanation  he  did  not  hesitate  to  feign  ignorance. 

If  in  large  cities  he  was  forced  to  walk  or  ride  through  the 
quarters  inhabited  by  the  proletarian  poor,  he  hastened  as  much 
as  possible,  compressed  his  lips,  breathed  sparingly,  and  his 
vexation  would  give  his  eyes  a  greenish  glitter. 

Once  on  the  street  a  crippled  beggar  had  caught  hold  of 
his  great  coat.  He  returned  home  and  presented  the  coat  to 
his  valet.  Even  in  his  childhood  he  had  refused  to  pass  places 
where  ragged  people  were  to  be  seen,  and  if  any  one  told  of 
misery  or  need  among  men  he  had  left  the  room,  full  of 
aversion  for  the  speaker. 

He  hated  to  speak  or  to  hear  others  speak  of  the  functions 
or  needs  of  the  body — of  sleep  or  hunger  or  thirst.  The  sight 
of  a  human  being  asleep  was  repulsive  to  him.  He  did  not  like 
emphatic  leavetakings  or  the  ceremonious  greetings  of  those 
who  had  been  absent  long.  He  disliked  church  bells  and  people 
who  prayed  and  all  things  that  have  to  do  with  the  exercise  of 
piety.  He  was  quite  without  understanding  for  even  the  very 
moderate  Protestantism  of  his  father. 

He  made  no  demand  in  words,  but  instinctively  he  chose  to 
bear  no  company  but  that  of  well-clad,  care-free,  and  clear- 
seeing  people.  Wherever  he  suspected  secrets,  hidden  sorrows, 
a  darkened  soul,  a  brooding  tendency,  inner  or  outer  conflicts, 
he  became  frosty  and  unapproachable  and  elusive.  Therefore 
his  mother  said:  "  Christian  is  a  child  of  the  sun  and  can  thrive 


CHRISTIAN'S   REST  43 

only  in  the  sunlight."  She  had  made  an  early  cult  of  keeping 
far  from  him  all  that  is  turbid,  distorted,  or  touched  with  pain. 
On  her  desk  lay  the  marble  copy  of  a  plaster-cast  of  Chris- 
tian's hand — a  hand  that  was  not  small,  but  sinewy  and  deli- 
cately formed,  capable  of  a  strong  grasp,  but  unused  and  quiet. 

XVII 

On  the  trip  from  Hanau  to  Frankfort  the  automobile  acci- 
dent occurred  in  which  young  Alfred  Meerholz  lost  his  life. 
Christian  was  driving,  but,  as  in  the  old  days  when  the  great 
tree  fell,  he  remained  unharmed. 

Crammon  had  accompanied  Christian  and  Alfred  as  far  as 
Hanau.  There  he  wanted  to  visit  Clementine  von  Westernach 
and  then  proceed  to  Frankfort  by  an  evening  train.  Christian 
had  sent  the  chauffeur  ahead  to  Frankfort  the  day  before  in 
order  to  make  certain  purchases. 

Christian  at  once  drove  at  high  speed,  and  toward  evening, 
as  the  road  stretched  out  before  him  empty  and  free  of  ob- 
stacles, he  made  the  car  fly.  Alfred  Meerholz  urged  him  on, 
glowing  in  the  intoxication  of  speed.  Christian  smiled  and  let 
the  machine  do  its  utmost. 

The  trees  on  both  sides  looked  like  leaping  animals  in  a 
photograph;  the  white  riband  of  the  road  rolled  shimmering 
toward  them  and  was  devoured  by  the  roaring  car;  the  red- 
dening sky  and  the  hills  on  the  horizon  seemed  to  swing  in 
circles ;  the  air  seethed  in  their  ears ;  their  bodies  vibrated  and 
yearned  to  be  whirled  still  more  swiftly  over  an  earth  that 
revealed  all  the  allurement  of  its  smoothness  and  rotundity. 

Suddenly  a  black  dot  arose  in  the  white  glare  of  the  road. 
Christian  gave  a  signal  with  his  horn.  The  dot  quickly  as- 
sumed human  form.  Again  the  signal  shrieked.  The  figure  did 
not  yield.  Christian  grasped  the  steering  wheel  more  firmly. 
Alfred  Meerholz  rose  in  his  seat  and  shouted.  It  was  too  late 
for  the  brake.  Christian  reversed  the  wheel  energetically;  it 
went  a  trifle  too  far.  There  was  a  jolt,  a  concussion,  a  crash, 


44  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

the  groan  of  a  splintering  tree,  a  hissing  and  crackling  of  flame, 
a  clash  and  rattle  of  steel.  It  was  over  in  a  moment. 

Christian  lay  stunned.  Then  he  got  up  and  felt  his  limbs 
and  body.  He  could  think  and  he  could  walk.  "  All's  right," 
he  said  to  himself. 

Then  he  caught  sight  of  the  body  of  his  friend.  The  young 
man  lay  under  the  twisted  and  misshapen  chassis  with  a  crushed 
skull.  A  little  trickle  of  scarlet  blood  ran  across  the  white 
dust  of  the  road.  A  few  paces  to  one  side  stood  in  surprised 
stupor  the  drunken  man  who  had  not  made  way. 

People  at  once  began  gathering  hurriedly  from  all  directions. 
There  was  a  hotel  near  by.  Christian  answered  many  questions 
briefly.  The  drunken  man  was  taken  in  custody.  A  physician 
came  and  examined  young  Meerholz's  body.  It  was  placed 
on  a  stretcher  and  carried  into  the  hotel.  Christian  telegraphed 
first  to  General  Meerholz,  then  to  Crammon. 

His  travelling  bag  had  not  been  injured.  While  he  was 
changing  his  clothes,  police  officers  arrived,  and  took  down  his 
depositions  concerning  the  accident.  Then  he  went  to  the 
dining-room  and  ordered  a  meal  and  a  bottle  of  wine. 

He  barely  touched  the  food.    The  wine  he  gradually  drank. 

He  saw  himself  standing  in  the  dim  hot-house  awaiting 
Letitia.  She  had  come  animated  by  her  excitement.  Languish- 
ing and  jesting  she  had  whispered:  "Well,  my  lord  and 
master?  "  And  he  had  said  to  her:  "Have  the  image  of  a 
small  toad  made  of  gold,  and  wear  the  charm  about  your 
throat  in  order  to  avert  the  evil  magic." 

Her  kiss  seemed  still  to  be  burning  on  his  lips. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  came  Crammon,  the  faithful. 
"  I  beg  of  you,  my  dear  fellow,  attend  to  all  necessary  arrange- 
ments for  me,"  Christian  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  pass  the  night 
here.  Adda  Castillo  will  be  getting  impatient."  He  handed 
Crammon  his  wallet. 

Christian  was  thinking  again  of  the  romantic  girl  who,  like 
all  of  her  temper,  gave  without  knowing  what  she  gave  or  to 


CHRISTIAN'S    REST  45 

whom,  nor  knew  how  long  life  is.  But  her  kiss  burned  on  his 
lips.  He  could  not  forget  it. 

Crammon  returned.  "  Everything  is  settled,"  he  said  in  a 
business  like  way.  "  The  car  will  be  ready  in  fifteen  minutes. 
Now  let  us  go  and  say  farewell  to  our  poor  friend." 

Christian  followed  him.  A  porter  led  them  to  a  dim  store- 
room in  which  the  body  had  been  placed  until  the  morrow. 
A  white  cloth  had  been  wrapped  about  the  head.  At  the  feet 
crouched  a  cat  with  spotted  fur. 

Silently  Crammon  folded  his  hands.  Christian  felt  a  cold 
breath  on  his  cheeks,  but  there  was  no  stirring  in  his  breast. 
When  they  came  out  into  the  open  he  said:  "  We  must  buy 
a  new  car  in  Frankfort.  We  need  not  be  back  here  before 
noon  to-morrow.  The  general  cannot  possibly  arrive  until 
then." 

Crammon  nodded.  But  a  surprised  look  sought  the  younger 
man,  a  look  that  seemed  to  ask:  Of  what  stuff  are  you  made? 

About  him,  delicate,  noble,  proud,  there  was  an  icy  air — 
the  infinitely  glassy  clarity  that  rests  on  mountains  before  the 
dawn. 


THE  GLOBE  ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF 

AN  ELF 


CRAMMON  had  been  a  true  prophet.  Ten  months  had  suf- 
ficed to  fix  the  eyes  of  the  world  upon  the  dancer,  Eva  Sorel. 
The  great  newspapers  coupled  her  name  with  the  celebrated 
ones  of  the  earth;  her  art  was  regarded  everywhere  as  the  fine 
flower  of  its  age. 

All  those  to  whose  restless  spiritual  desires  she  had  given 
form  and  body  were  at  her  feet.  The  leaders  of  sorely  driven 
humanity  drew  a  breath  and  looked  up  to  her.  The  adorers 
of  form  and  the  proclaimers  of  new  rhythms  vied  for  a  smile 
from  her  lips. 

She  remained  calm  and  austere  with  herself.  Sometimes  the 
noise  of  plaudits  wearied  her.  Hard  beset  by  the  vast  promises 
of  greedy  managers,  she  felt  not  rarely  a  breath  of  horror. 
Her  inner  vision,  fixed  upon  a  far  and  ideal  goal,  grew  dim  at 
the  stammered  thanks  of  the  easily  contented.  These,  it 
seemed  to  her,  would  cheat  her.  Then  she  fled  to  Susan 
Rappard  and  was  scolded  for  her  pains. 

"  We  wandered  out  to  conquer  the  world,"  said  Susan,  "  and 
the  world  has  submitted  almost  without  a  struggle.  Why 
don't  you  enjoy  your  triumph?  " 

"  What  my  hands  hold  and  my  eyes  grasp  gives  me  no 
cause  to  feel  very  triumphant  yet,"  Eva  answered. 

Susan  lamented  loudly.  "  You  little  fool,  you've  literally 
gone  hungry.  Take  your  fill  now!  " 

"  Be  quiet,"  Eva  replied,  "  what  do  you  know  of  my 
hunger?  " 

People  besieged  her  threshold,  but  she  received  only  a  few 

46 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS   OF  AN   ELF      47 

and  chose  them  carefully.  She  lived  in  a  world  of  flowers. 
Jean  Cardillac  had  furnished  her  an  exquisite  house,  the 
garden  terrace  of  which  was  like  a  tropical  paradise.  When 
she  reclined  or  sat  there  in  the  evening  under  the  softened 
light  of  the  lamps,  surrounded  by  her  gently  chatting  friends, 
whose  most  casual  glance  was  an  act  of  homage,  she  seemed 
removed  from  the  world  of  will  and  of  the  senses  and  to  be 
present  in  this  realm  of  space  only  as  a  beautiful  form.  ' 

Yet  even  those  who  thought  her  capable  of  any  metamor- 
phosis were  astonished  when  a  sudden  one  came  upon  her  and 
when  its  cause  seemed  to  be  an  unknown  and  inconsiderable 
person.  Prince  Alexis  Wiguniewski  had  introduced  the  man, 
and  his  name  was  Ivan  Michailovitch  Becker.  He  was  short 
and  homely,  with  deep-set  Sarmatian  eyes,  lips  that  looked 
swollen,  and  a  straggling  beard  about  his  chin  and  cheeks. 
Susan  was  afraid  of  him. 

It  was  on  a  December  night  when  the  snow  was  banked  up 
at  the  windows  that  Ivan  Michailovitch  Becker  had  talked 
with  Eva  Sorel  for  eight  hours  in  the  little  room  spread  with 
Italian  rugs.  In  the  adjoining  room  Susan  walked  shivering 
up  and  down,  wondering  when  her  mistress  would  call  for 
help.  She  had  an  old  shawl  about  her  shoulders.  From  time 
to  time  she  took  an  almond  from  her  pocket,  cracked  it  with 
her  teeth,  and  threw  the  shells  into  the  fireplace. 

But  on  this  night  Eva  did  not  go  to  bed,  not  even  when  the 
Russian  had  left  her.  She  entered  her  sleeping  chamber  and 
let  her  hair  roll  down  unrestrained  so  that  it  hid  her  head  and 
body,  and  she  sat  on  a  low  stool  holding  her  fevered  cheeks 
in  her  hollow  hands.  Susan,  who  had  come  to  help  her  undress, 
crouched  near  her  on  the  floor  and  waited  for  a  word. 

At  last  her  young  mistress  spoke.  "  Read  me  the  thirty- 
third  canto  of  the  Injerno,"  she  begged. 

Susan  brought  two  candles  and  the  book.  She  placed  the 
candles  on  the  floor  and  the  volume  on  Eva's  lap.  Then  she 
read  with  a  monotonous  sound  of  lamentation.  But  toward 


48  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

the  end,  especially  where  the  poet  speaks  of  petrified  and  frozen 
tears,  her  clear  voice  grew  firmer  and  more  eloquent. 

"  Lo  pianto  stesso  li  pianger  non  lascia ; 
E  il  duol,  che  trova  in  sugli  occhi  rintoppo, 
Si  volve  in  entro  a  far  crescer  1'ambascia : 
Che  le  lagrime  prime  fanno  groppo, 
E,  si  come  visiere  di  cristallo, 
Riempion  sotto  il  ciglio  tutto  il  coppo."  1 

When  she  had  finished  she  was  frightened  by  the  gleaming 
moisture  in  Eva's  eyes. 

Eva  arose  and  bent  her  head  far  backward  and  closed  her 
eyes  and  said:  "  I  shall  dance  all  that — damnation  in  hell  and 
then  redemption!  " 

Then  Susan  embraced  Eva's  knees  and  pressed  her  cheek 
against  the  bronze  coloured  silk  of  the  girl's  garment  and 
murmured:  "  You  can  do  anything  you  wish." 

From  that  night  on  Eva  was  filled  with  a  more  urgent  pas- 
sion, and  her  dancing  had  lines  in  which  beauty  hovered  on 
the  edge  of  pain.  Ecstatic  prophets  asserted  that  she  was 
dancing  the  new  century,  the  sunset  of  old  ideas,  the  revolution 
that  is  to  come. 

ii 

When  Crammon  saw  her  again  she  showed  the  exquisitely 
cultivated  firmness  of  a  great  lady  and  forced  his  silent  admira- 
tion. And  again  there  began  that  restless  burning  in  his  heart. 

He  talked  to  her  about  Christian  Wahnschaffe  and  one 
evening  he  brought  him  to  her.  In  Christian's  face  there  was 
something  radiant.  Adda  Castillo  had  drenched  it  with  her 
passion.  Eva  felt  about  him  the  breath  of  another  woman 
and  her  face  showed  a  mocking  curiosity.  For  several  seconds 

*  "  The  very  weeping  there  allows  them  not  to  weep ;  and  the 
grief,  which  finds  impediment  upon  their  eyes,  turns  inward  to 
increase  the  agony :  for  their  first  tears  form  a  knot,  and,  like 
crystal  vizors,  fill  up  all  the  cavity  beneath  their  eye-brows." 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS   OF  AN   ELF     49 

the  young  man  and  the  dancer  faced  each  other  like  two 
statues  on  their  pedestals. 

Crammon  wondered  whether  Christian  would  ever  thank  him 
for  this  service.  He  gave  his  arm  to  Susan,  and  the  two  walked 
to  and  fro  in  the  picture  gallery. 

"  I  hope  your  blond  German  friend  is  a  prince,"  said  Susan 
with  her  air  of  worry. 

"  He's  a  prince  travelling  incognito  in  this  vale  of  tears," 
Crammon  answered.  "  You've  made  some  stunning  changes 
here,"  he  added,  gazing  about  him.  "  I'm  satisfied  with  you 
both.  You  are  wise  and  know  the  ways  of  the  world." 

Susan  stopped  and  told  him  of  what  weighed  upon  her  mind. 
Ivan  Machailovitch  Becker  came  from  time  to  time,  and  he 
and  Eva  would  talk  together  for  many  hours.  Always  after 
that  Eva  would  pass  a  sleepless  night  and  answer  no  questions 
and  have  a  fevered  gleaming  in  her  eyes.  And  how  was  one 
to  forbid  the  marvellous  child  her  indulgence  in  this  mood? 
Yet  it  might  hold  a  danger  for  her.  No  stray  pessimist  with 
awkward  hands  should  be  permitted  to  drag  down  as  with 
weights  the  delicate  vibrations  of  her  soul.  "  What  do  you 
advise  us  to  do?  "  she  asked. 

Crammon  rubbed  his  smooth  chin.  "  I  must  think  it  over," 
he  said,  "  I  must  think  it  over."  He  sat  down  in  a  corner 
and  rested  his  head  on  his  hands  and  pondered. 

Eva  chatted  with  Christian.  Sometimes  she  laughed  at  his 
remarks,  sometimes  they  seemed  strange  and  astonishing  to 
her.  Yet  even  where  she  thought  her  own  judgment  the  better, 
she  was  willing  to  hear  and  learn.  She  regarded  his  figure 
with  pleasure  and  asked  him  to  get  her,  from  a  table  in  the 
room,  an  onyx  box  filled  with  semi-precious  stones.  She 
wanted  to  see  how  he  would  walk  and  move,  how  he  would 
stretch  out  his  arm  and  hand  after  the  box  and  give  it  to  her. 
She  poured  the  stones  into  her  lap  and  played  with  them. 
She  let  them  glide  through  her  fingers,  and  said  to  Christian 
with  a  smile  that  he  should  have  become  a  dancer. 


50  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

He  answered  naively  that  he  was  not  fond  of  dancing  in 
general,  but  that  he  would  think  it  charming  to  dance  with 
her.  His  speech  amused  her,  but  she  promised  to  dance  with 
him.  The  stones  glittered  in  her  hands;  a  quiver  of  her  mouth 
betrayed  vexation  and  pride  but  also  compassion. 

When  she  laughed  it  embarrassed  Christian,  and  when  she 
was  silent  he  was  afraid  of  her  thoughts.  He  had  promised 
to  meet  Adda  Castillo  at  almost  this  hour.  Yet  he  stayed 
although  he  knew  that  she  would  be  jealous  and  make  a  scene. 
Eva  seemed  like  an  undiscovered  country  to  him  that  lured 
him  on.  Her  tone,  her  gestures,  her  expression,  her  words,  all 
seemed  utterly  new.  He  could  not  tear  himself  away,  and  his 
dark  blue  eyes  clung  to  her  with  a  kind  of  balked  penetration. 
Even  when  her  friends  came — Cardillac,  Wiguniewski, 
d'Autichamps — he  stayed  on. 

But  Eva  had  found  a  name  for  him.  She  called  him  Eidolon. 
She  uttered  that  name  and  played  with  its  sound  even  as  she 
played  with  the  mani-coloured  jewels  in  her  lap. 


in 

One  night  Crammon  entered  a  tavern  in  the  outer  boule- 
vards. It  was  called  "  Le  pauvre  Job."  He  looked  about  him 
for  a  while  and  then  sat  down  near  a  table  at  which  several 
young  men  of  foreign  appearance  were  conversing  softly  in  a 
strange  tongue. 

It  was  a  group  of  Russian  political  refugees  whose  meeting 
place  he  had  discovered.  Their  chief  was  Ivan  Michailovitch 
Becker.  Crammon  pretended  to  be  reading  a  paper  while  he 
observed  his  man,  whom  he  recognized  from  a  photograph 
which  Prince  Wiguniewski  had  shown  him.  He  had  never  seen 
so  fanatical  a  face.  He  compared  it  with  a  smouldering  fire 
that  filled  the  air  with  heat  and  fumes. 

He  had  been  told  that  Ivan  Becker  had  suffered  seven  years 
of  imprisonment  and  five  of  Siberian  exile  and  that  many 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF  AN   ELF      51 

thousands  of  the  young  men  of  his  people  were  wholly  devoted 
to  him  and  would  risk  any  danger  or  sacrifice  at  his  bidding. 

"  Here  they  live  in  the  most  brilliant  spot  of  the  habitable 
earth,"  Crammon  thought  angrily,  "  and  plan  horrors." 

Crammon  was  an  enemy  of  violent  overthrow.  If  it  did  not 
interfere  with  his  own  comfort,  he  was  rather  glad  to  see 
the  poor  get  the  better  of  the  over- fed  bourgeois.  He  was 
a  friend  of  the  poor.  He  took  a  condescending  and  friendly 
interest  in  the  common  people.  But  he  respected  high  de- 
scent, opposed  any  breach  of  venerable  law,  and  held  his 
monarch  in  honour.  Every  innovation  in  the  life  of  the  state 
filled  him  with  presentiments  of  evil,  and  he  deprecated  the 
weakness  of  the  governments  that  had  permitted  the  wretched 
parliaments  to  usurp  their  powers. 

He  knew  that  there  was  something  threatening  at  the 
periphery  of  his  world.  A  stormwind  from  beyond  blew  out 
lamps.  What  if  they  should  all  be  blown  out?  Was  not  their 
light  and  radiance  the  condition  of  a  calm  life? 

He  sat  there  in  his  seriousness  and  dignity,  conscious  of  his 
superiority  and  of  his  good  deeds.  As  a  representative  of 
order  he  had  determined  to  appeal  to  the  conscience  of  these 
rebels  if  a  suitable  opportunity  were  to  come.  Yet  what  tor- 
mented him  was  less  an  anxiety  over  the  throne  of  the  Tsar 
than  one  over  Eva  Sorel.  It  was  necessary  to  free  the  dancer 
from  the  snares  of  this  man. 

An  accident  favoured  his  enterprise.  One  man  after  another 
left  the  neighbouring  table  and  at  last  Ivan  Becker  was  left 
alone.  Crammon  took  his  glass  of  absinthe  and  went  over. 
He  introduced  himself,  referring  to  his  friendship  with  Prince 
Wiguniewski. 

Silently  Becker  pointed  to  a  chair. 

True  to  his  kind  and  condescending  impulses  Crammon 
assumed  the  part  of  an  amiable  man  who  can  comprehend 
every  form  of  human  aberration.  He  approached  his  aim 
with  innocent  turns  of  speech.  He  scarcely  touched  the  poison- 


52  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

ous  undergrowth  of  political  contentions.  He  merely  pointed 
out  with  the  utmost  delicacy  that,  in  the  West  of  Europe,  the 
private  liberty  of  certain  lofty  personages  would  have  to  re- 
main untouched  unless  force  were  to  be  used  to  oppose  force. 
Gentle  as  his  speech  was,  it  was  an  admonition.  Ivan  smiled 
indulgently. 

"  Though  the  whole  sky  were  to  flare  with  the  conflagrations 
that  devastate  your  Holy  Russia,"  Crammon  said  with  con- 
scious eloquence,  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth  seemed  to  bend 
in  right  angles  toward  his  square  chin,  "  we  will  know  how  to 
defend  what  is  sacred  to  us.  Caliban  is  an  impressive  beast. 
But  if  he  were  to  lay  his  hands  on  Ariel  he  might  regret  it." 

Again  Ivan  Michailovitch  smiled.  His  expression  was 
strangely  mild  and  gentle,  and  gave  his  homely,  large  face  an 
almost  feminine  aspect.  He  listened  as  though  desiring  to  be 
instructed. 

Crammon  was  encouraged.  "  What  has  Ariel  to  do  with  your 
misery?  He  looks  behind  him  to  see  if  men  kiss  the  print  of  his 
feet.  He  demands  joy  and  glory,  not  blood  and  force." 

"  Ariel's  feet  are  dancing  over  open  graves,"  Ivan  Michailo- 
vitch said  softly. 

"  Your  dead  are  safe  at  peace,"  Crammon  answered.  "  With 
the  living  we  shall  know  how  to  deal." 

"  We  are  coming,"  said  Ivan  Michailovitch  still  more  softly. 
"  We  are  coming."  It  sounded  mysterious. 

Half  fearfully,  half  contemptuously  Crammon  looked  at  the 
man.  After  a  long  pause  he  said  as  though  casually,  "  At 
twelve  paces  I  can  hit  the  ace  of  hearts  four  times  out  of 
five." 

Ivan  Michailovitch  nodded.  "I  can't,"  he  said  almost 
humbly,  and  showed  his  right  hand,  which  he  usually  con- 
cealed skilfully.  It  was  mutilated. 

"  What  happened  to  your  hand?  "  Crammon  asked  in  pained 
surprise. 

"  When  I  lay  in  the  subterranean  prison  at  Kazan  a  keeper 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS   OF  AN   ELF      53 

forged  the  chain  about  me  too  hard/'  Ivan  Michailovitch 
murmured. 

Crammon  was  silent,  but  the  other  went  on:  "  Perhaps  you've 
noticed  too  that  it's  difficult  for  me  to  speak.  I  lived  alone  too 
long  in  the  desert  of  snow,  in  a  wooden  hut,  in  the  icy  cold. 
I  became  unused  to  words.  I  suffered.  But  that  is  only  a 
single  word:  suffering.  How  can  one  make  its  content  clear? 
My  body  was  but  a  naked  scaffolding,  a  ruin.  But  my  heart 
grew  and  expanded.  How  can  I  tell  it?  It  grew  to  be  so  great, 
so  blood  red,  so  heavy  that  it  became  a  burden  to  me  in  the 
fearful  attempt  at  flight  which  I  finally  risked.  But  God 
protected  me."  And  he  repeated  softly,  "  God  protected  me." 

In  Crammon's  mind  all  ideas  became  confused.  Was  this 
man  with  his  gentle  voice  and  the  timid  eyes  of  a  girl  the 
murderous  revolutionary  and  hero  of  possible  barricades  whom 
he  had  expected  to  meet?  In  his  surprise  and  embarrassment 
he  became  silent. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  Ivan  Michailovitch.  "  It  is  late."  He 
arose  and  threw  a  coin  on  the  table  and  stepped  out  into  the 
street  at  Crammon's  side.  There  he  began  again,  hesitatingly 
and  shyly:  "I  don't  want  to  presume  to  judge,  but  I  don't 
understand  these  people  here.  They  are  so  certain  of  them- 
selves and  so  reasonable.  Yet  that  reasonableness  is  the  com- 
pletest  madness.  A  beast  of  the  field  that  feels  the  tremor 
of  an  earthquake  and  flees  is  wiser.  And  another  thing:  Ariel, 
the  being  whom  you  strive  so  eloquently  to  protect,  has  no 
moral  responsibility.  No  one  thinks  of  blaming  it.  What  is  it 
but  form,  gesture,  beauty?  But  don't  you  think  that  the 
darker  hue  and  deeper  power  that  are  born  of  the  knowledge 
of  superhuman  suffering  might  raise  art  above  the  interests  of 
idle  sybarites?  We  need  heralds  who  stand  above  the  idioms 
of  the  peoples;  but  those  are  possibilities  that  one  can  only 
dream  of  with  despair  in  one's  heart."  He  nodded  a  brief 
good-night  and  went. 

Crammon  felt  like  a  man  who  had  merrily  gone  out  in  a 


54  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

light  spring  suit  but  had  been  overtaken  by  a  rainstorm  and 
returns  drenched  and  angry.  The  clocks  were  striking  two. 
A  lady  of  the  Opera  Comique  had  been  waiting  for  him  since 
midnight;  the  key  to  her  apartment  was  in  his  pocket.  But 
when  he  came  to  the  bridge  across  the  Seine  he  seized  the  key 
and,  overcome  by  a  violent  fit  of  depression,  flung  it  into  the 
water. 

"  Sweet  Ariel!  "  He  spoke  softly  to  himself.  "I  kiss  the 
prints  of  your  feet." 

rv 

Adda  Castillo  noticed  that  Christian  was  turning  from  her. 
She  had  not  expected  that,  at  least  not  so  soon;  and  as  she 
saw  him  grow  cold,  her  love  increased.  But  his  indifference 
kept  pace  with  her  ardour,  and  so  her  passionate  heart  lost  all 
repose. 

She  was  accustomed  to  change  and,  in  spite  of  her  youth, 
had  been  greatly  loved.  She  had  never  demanded  fidelity 
before  nor  practised  it.  But  this  man  was  more  to  her  than 
any  other  had  been. 

She  knew  who  was  robbing  her  of  him;  she  had  seen  the 
dancer.  When  she  called  Christian  to  account  he  frankly  ad- 
mitted as  a  fact  what  she  had  mentioned  only  as  a  suspicion 
in  the  hope  of  having  it  denied.  She  instituted  comparisons. 
She  found  that  she  was  more  beautiful  than  Eva  Sorel,  more 
harmoniously  formed,  racier  and  more  impassioned.  Her 
friends  confirmed  her  in  this  opinion;  and  yet  she  felt  that  the 
other  had  some  advantage  to  which  she  must  yield.  Neither 
she  nor  her  flatterers  could  give  it  a  name.  But  she  felt  her- 
self the  more  deeply  affronted. 

She  adorned  her  person,  she  practised  all  her  arts,  she  un- 
folded all  sides  of  her  wild  and  entrancing  temperament.  It 
was  in  vain.  Then  she  vowed  vengeance  and  clenched  her 
fists  and  stamped.  Or  else  she  begged  and  lay  on  her  knees 
before  him  and  sobbed.  One  method  was  as  foolish  as  the 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF  AN  ELF      55 

other.  He  was  surprised  and  asked  calmly:  "  Why  do  you 
throw  aside  all  dignity?  " 

One  day  he  told  her  that  they  must  separate.  She  turned 
very  white  and  trembled.  Suddenly  she  took  a  revolver  from 
her  pocket,  aimed  at  him  and  fired  twice.  He  heard  the  bullets 
whiz  past  his  head,  one  on  either  side.  They  hit  the  mirror 
and  smashed  it,  and  the  fragments  clattered  to  the  floor. 

People  rushed  to  the  door.  Christian  went  out  and  ex- 
plained that  the  noise  meant  no  harm  and  was  due  to  mere 
carelessness.  When  he  returned  he  found  Adda  Castillo  lying 
on  the  sofa  with  her  face  buried  in  the  pillows.  He  showed 
no  fright  and  no  sense  of  the  danger  that  he  had  escaped. 
He  thought  merely  how  annoying  such  things  were  and  how 
banal.  He  took  his  hat  and  stick  and  left  the  room. 

It  was  long  before  Adda  Castillo  arose.  She  went  to  the 
mirror  and  shivered.  There  was  but  one  fragment  of  it  left 
in  the  frame.  But  by  the  help  of  this  fragment  she  smoothed 
her  coal-black  hair. 

A  few  days  later  she  came  to  see  Christian.  On  the  card 
that  she  had  sent  in  she  begged  for  an  interview  of  but  five 
minutes.  Her  farewell  performance  in  Paris  was  to  take  place 
that  evening  and  she  begged  him  to  be  present  at  the  circus. 
He  hesitated.  The  glowing  eyes  in  the  wax- white  face  were 
fixed  on  him  in  a  mortal  terror.  It  made  him  uncomfortable, 
but  something  like  pity  stirred  within  him  and  he  agreed  to 
come. 

Crammon  accompanied  him.  They  entered  just  as  Adda 
Castillo's  act  was  about  to  begin.  The  cage  with  the  lions 
was  being  drawn  into  the  arena.  Their  seats  were  near  the 
front.  "  They're  getting  to  be  a  bit  of  a  bore,  these  lions," 
Crammon  grumbled  and  watched  the  audience  through  his 
glasses. 

Adda  Castillo  in  scarlet  fleshings,  her  dark  hair  loose,  her  lips 
and  cheeks  heavily  rouged,  entered  the  cage  of  the  lionness  and 
her  four  cubs.  Perhaps  something  in  the  woman's  bearing  irri- 


56  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

tated  Teddy,  the  youngest  lion.  At  all  events  he  backed  before 
her,  roared  and  lifted  his  paw.  Adda  Castillo  whistled  and 
commanded  him  with  a  gesture  to  leave  the  mother  animal. 
Teddy  crouched  and  hissed. 

At  that  moment  Adda,  instead  of  mastering  the  beast  with 
her  glance,  turned  to  the  public  and  searched  the  front  rows 
with  her  sparkling  eyes.  Teddy  leaped  on  her  shoulder.  She 
was  down.  One  cry  arose  from  many  throats.  The  people 
jumped  up.  Many  fled.  Others  grew  pale  but  stared  in  evil 
fascination  at  the  cage. 

At  that  moment  Trilby,  the  mother  animal,  came  forward 
with  a  mighty  leap,  not  to  attack  her  mistress  but  to  save  her 
from  the  cubs.  With  powerful  blows  of  her  paw  she  thrust 
Teddy  aside  and  stood  protectingly  over  the  girl  who  was 
bleeding  from  many  wounds.  But  the  cubs,  greedy  for  blood, 
threw  themselves  on  their  mother  and  beat  and  bit  her  back 
and  flanks,  so  that  she  retreated  howling  to  a  corner  and  left 
the  girl  to  her  fate. 

The  keepers  had  rushed  up  with  long  spears  and  hooks,  but 
it  was  too  late.  The  cubs  had  bitten  their  teeth  deep  into  the 
body  of  Adda  Castillo  and  torn  her  flesh  to  shreds.  They  did 
not  let  go  until  formaldehyde  was  sprinkled  on  her  scattered 
remains. 

The  cries  of  pity  and  terror,  the  weeping  and  wringing  of 
hands,  the  thronging  at  the  gates  and  the  noise  of  the  circus 
men,  the  image  of  a  clown  who  stood  as  though  frozen  on  a 
drum,  a  horse  that  trotted  in  from  the  stables,  the  sight  of 
the  bloody,  unspeakably  mutilated  body  in  its  dripping  shreds 
— none  of  all  this  penetrated  in  any  connected  or  logical  form 
the  consciousness  of  Christian.  It  seemed  to  him  mere  con- 
fusion and  ghostly  whirl.  He  uttered  no  sound.  Only  Kis 
face  was  pale.  His  face  was  very  pale. 

In  the  motor  car  on  their  way  to  Jean  Cardillac,  with  whom 
"hey  were  to  dine,  Crammon  said:  "  By  God,  I  wouldn't  like  to 
die  between  the  jaws  of  a  lion.  It  is  a  cruel  death  and  an  igno- 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF  AN  ELF     57 

minious  one."  He  sighed  and  surreptitiously  looked  at 
Christian. 

Christian  had  the  car  stop  and  asked  Crammon  to  present 
his  excuses  to  Cardillac.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 
Crammon  asked  in  his  astonishment. 

And  Christian  replied  that  he  wanted  to  be  alone,  that  he 
must  be  alone  for  a  little. 

Crammon  could  scarcely  control  himself.  "  Alone?  You? 
What  for?  "  But  already  Christian  had  disappeared  in  the 
crowd. 

"  He  wants  to  be  alone!  What  an  insane  notion!  "  Cram- 
mon growled.  He  shook  his  head  and  bade  the  chauffeur  drive 
on.  He  drew  up  the  collar  of  his  greatcoat  and  dedicated  a  last 
thought  to  the  unhappy  Adda  Castillo  without  assigning  any 
guilt  or  blame  to  his  friend. 


"  Eidolon  is  not  as  cheerful  as  usual,"  Eva  said  to  Christian. 
"  What  has  happened?  Eidolon  mustn't  be  sad." 

He  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  But  she  had  heard  of  the 
happening  at  the  circus  and  also  knew  in  what  relation  Adda 
Castillo  had  stood  to  Christian. 

"  I  had  a  bad  dream,"  he  said  and  told  her  of  it. 

"  I  dreamed  that  I  was  in  a  railroad  station  and  wanted  to 
take  a  train.  Many  trains  came  in  but  roared  and  passed  with 
indescribable  swiftness.  I  wanted  to  ask  after  the  meaning  of 
this.  But  when  I  turned  around  I  saw  behind  me  in  a  semi- 
circle an  innumerable  throng.  And  all  these  people  looked  at 
me;  but  when  I  approached  them,  they  all  drew  away  slowly 
and  silently  with  outstretched  arms.  All  about  in  that  mon- 
strous circle  they  drew  silently  away  from  me.  It  was  hor- 
rible." 

She  passed  her  hand  over  his  forehead  to  chase  the  horror 
away.  But  she  recognized  the  power  of  her  touch  and  was 
frightened  by  her  image  in  his  eye. 


58  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

When  from  the  stage  where  she  was  bowing  amid  the  flowers 
and  the  applause  she  perceived  the  touch  of  his  glances  she 
felt  in  them  a  threat  of  enslavement.  When  on  his  arm  she 
approached  a  table  and  heard  the  delighted  whisper  of  people 
at  them  both,  she  seemed  to  herself  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy, 
and  a  hesitation  crept  into  her  bearing.  When  Crammon,  prac- 
tising a  strange  self-abnegation,  spoke  of  Christian  in  ex- 
travagant terms,  and  Susan,  even  in  their  nocturnal  talks,  grew 
mythical  concerning  his  high  descent,  when  Cardillac  grew  rest- 
less and  Cornelius  Ermelang,  the  young  German  poet  who 
adored  her,  asked  questions  with  his  timid  eyes — when  these 
things  came  to  pass  she  feigned  coldness  and  became  un- 
approachable. 

She  scolded  Susan,  she  made  fun  of  Crammon,  she  laughed  at 
Jean  Cardillac,  jestingly  she  bent  her  knee  to  the  poet.  She 
confused  her  entire  court  of  painters,  politicians,  journalists, 
and  dandies  with  her  incomprehensible  mimicry  and  flexibility, 
and  said  that  Eidolon  was  only  an  illusion  and  a  symbol. 

Christian  did  not  understand  this — neither  this  nor  her 
swift  withdrawals  from  him,  and  then  her  turning  back  and 
luring  him  anew.  A  passionate  gesture  would  arise  and  sud- 
denly turn  to  reproof,  and  one  of  delight  would  turn  into 
estrangement.  It  was  useless  to  try  to  bind  her  by  her  own 
words.  She  would  join  the  tips  of  her  fingers  and  turn  her 
head  aside  and  look  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes  at  the  floor 
with  a  cool  astuteness. 

Once  he  had  driven  her  into  a  corner,  but  she  called  Susan, 
leaned  her  head  against  the  woman's  shoulder  and  whispered  in 
her  ear. 

Another  time,  in  order  to  test  her  feeling,  he  spoke  of  his 
trip  to  England.  With  charmingly  curved  hands  she  gathered 
up  her  skirt  and  surveyed  her  feet. 

Another  time,  in  the  light  and  cheerful  tone  they  used  to 
each  other,  he  reproached  her  with  making  a  fool  of  him.  She 
crossed  her  arms  and  smiled  mysteriously,  wild  and  subdued  at 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF  AN  ELF      59 

once.  She  looked  as  though  she  had  stepped  out  of  a  Byzantine 
mosaic. 

He  knew  the  freedom  of  her  life.  But  when  he  sought  for 
the  motives  that  guided  her,  he  had  no  means  of  finding  them. 

He  knew  nothing  of  the  intellectual  fire  of  the  dancer,  but 
took  her  to  be  a  woman  like  any  other.  He  did  not  see  that 
that  which  is,  in  other  women,  the  highest  stake  and  the 
highest  form  of  life,  needed  to  be  in  her  life  but  a  moment's 
inclination  and  a  moment's  gliding  by.  He  did  not  grasp  the 
form  in  her,  but  saw  the  contour  melt  in  glimmering  change. 
Coming  from  the  sensual  regions  of  one  possessed  like  Adda 
Castillo,  he  breathed  here  an  air  purified  of  all  sultriness,  which 
intoxicated  but  also  frightened  him,  which  quickened  the  beat 
of  the  heart  but  sharpened  the  vision. 

Everything  was  fraught  with  presages  of  fate:  when  she 
walked  beside  him;  when  they  rode  side  by  side  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne;  when  they  sat  in  the  twilight  and  he  heard  her 
clear  and  childlike  voice;  when  in  the  palm  garden  she  teased 
her  little  monkeys ;  when  she  listened  to  Susan  at  the  piano  and 
let  the  bright  stones  glide  through  her  fingers. 

One  evening  when  he  was  leaving  he  met  Jean  Cardillac  at 
the  gate.  They  greeted  each  other.  Then  involuntarily  Chris- 
tian stopped  and  looked  after  the  man,  whose  huge  form  threw 
a  gigantic  shadow  on  the  steps.  Invisible  little  slaves  seemed  to 
follow  this  shadow,  all  bearing  treasures  to  be  laid  at  Eva's 
feet. 

An  involuntary  determination  crystallized  in  him.  It  seemed 
important  to  measure  his  strength  against  this  shadow's.  He 
turned  back  and  the  servants  let  him  pass.  Cardillac  and  Eva 
were  in  the  picture  gallery.  She  was  curled  up  on  a  sofa,  rolled 
up  almost  like  a  snake.  Not  far  from  those  two,  on  a  low  stool, 
sat  Susan  impassive  but  with  burning  eyes. 

"  You've  promised  to  drive  with  me  to  the  races  at  Long- 
champ,  Eva,"  said  Christian.  He  stood  by  the  door  to  show 
that  he  desired  nothing  else. 


60  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  Yes,  Eidolon.  Why  the  reminder?  "  answered  Eva  with- 
out moving,  but  with  a  flush  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Quite  alone  with  me ?  " 

"  Yes,  Eidolon,  quite  alone." 

"  My  dream  suddenly  came  back  to  me,  and  I  thought  of 
that  train  that  wouldn't  stop." 

She  laughed  at  the  naive  and  amiable  tone  of  his  words.  Her 
eyes  grew  gentle  and  she  laid  her  head  back  on  the  pillows. 
Then  she  looked  at  Cardillac,  who  arose  silently. 

"  Good-night,"  said  Christian  and  went. 

It  was  during  these  days  that  Denis  Lay  had  arrived  in 
Paris.  Crammon  had  expected  him  and  now  welcomed  him 
with  ardour.  "  He  is  the  one  man  living  who  is  your  equal  and 
who  competes  with  you  in  my  heart,"  Crammon  had  said  to 
Christian. 

Denis  was  the  second  son  of  Lord  Stainwood.  He  had  had 
a  brilliant  career  at  Oxford,  where  his  exploits  had  been  the 
talk  of  the  country.  He  had  formed  a  new  party  amid  the 
undergraduates,  whose  discussions  and  agitations  had  spared  no 
time-honoured  institutions.  At  twenty-two  he  was  not  only  a 
marksman,  hunter,  fisherman,  sailor,  and  boxer,  but  a  learned 
philologist.  He  was  handsome,  wealthy,  radiant  with  life,  and 
surrounded  by  a  legend  of  mad  pranks  and  by  a  halo  of  dis- 
tinction and  elegance — the  last  and  finest  flower  of  his  class 
and  nation. 

Christian  recognized  his  qualities  without  envy  and  the 
two  became  friends  at  once.  One  evening  he  was  entertain- 
ing Cardillac,  Crammon,  Wiguniewski,  Denis  Lay,  the  Duchess 
of  Marivaux,  and  Eva  Sorel.  And  it  was  on  this  occasion  that 
Eva,  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  company,  lightly  broke  the 
promise  that  she  had  given  him. 

Denis  had  expressed  the  desire  to  take  her  to  Longchamp 
in  his  car.  Eva  became  aware  of  Christian's  look.  It  was 
watchful,  but  still  assured.  She  held  a  cluster  of  grapes  in 
her  hand.  When  she  had  placed  the  fruit  back  on  the  plate 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF  AN  ELF      61 

before  her,  she  had  betrayed  him.  Christian  turned  pale.  He 
felt  that  she  needed  no  reminder.  She  had  chosen.  It  was 
for  him  to  be  quiet  and  withdraw. 

Eva  took  up  the  cluster  of  grapes  again.  Lifting  it  on  the 
palm  of  her  hand  she  said  with  that  smile  of  dreamy  enthu- 
siasm which  seemed  heartless  to  Christian  now:  "Beautiful 
fruit,  I  shall  leave  you  until  I  am  hungry  for  you." 

Crammon  raised  his  glass  and  cried:  "  Whoever  wishes  to 
do  homage  to  the  lady  of  our  allegiance — drink!  " 

They  all  drank  to  Eva,  but  Christian  did  not  lift  his  eyes. 

VI 

On  the  next  night  after  her  performance,  Eva  had  invited 
several  friends  to  her  house.  She  had  danced  the  chief  role  in 
the  new  pantomime  called  "  The  Dryads,"  and  her  triumph  had 
been  very  great.  She  came  home  in  a  cloud  of  flowers.  Later 
a  footman  brought  in  a  basket  heaped  with  cards  and  letters. 

She  sank  into  Susan's  arms,  happy  and  exhausted.  Every 
pore  of  her  glowed  with  life. 

Crammon  said:  "There  may  be  insensitive  scoundrels  in 
the  world.  But  I  think  it's  magnificent  to  watch  a  human 
being  on  the  very  heights  of  life." 

For  this  saying  Eva,  with  graceful  reverence,  gave  him  a 
red  rose.  And  the  burning  in  his  breast  became  worse  and 
worse. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  Christian  and  Denis  were  to  have 
a  fencing  bout.  Eva  had  begged  for  it.  She  hoped  not  only 
to  enjoy  the  sight,  but  to  learn  something  for  her  own  art 
from  the  movements  of  the  two  young  athletes. 

The  preparations  had  been  completed.  In  the  round  hall 
hung  with  tapestries,  Christian  and  Denis  faced  each  other. 
Eva  clapped  her  hands  and  they  assumed  their  positions.  For 
a  while  nothing  was  heard  except  their  swift,  muffled,  and 
rhythmical  steps  and  the  clash  of  their  foils.  Eva  stood 
erect,  all  eye,  drinking  in  their  gestures.  Christian's  body 


62  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

was  slenderer  and  more  elastic  than  the  Englishman's.  The 
latter  had  more  strength  and  freedom.  They  were  like 
brothers  of  whom  one  had  grown  up  in  a  harsh,  the  other  in 
a  mild -climate;  the  one  self-disciplined  and  upheld  by  a  long 
tradition  of  breeding,  the  other  cradled  in  tenderness  and 
somewhat  uncertain  within.  The  one  was  all  marrow,  the  other 
all  radiance.  In  virility  and  passion  they  were  equals. 

Crammon  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  enthusiasm. 

When  the  combat  was  nearly  at  an  end,  Cornelius  Ermelang 
appeared,  and  with  him  Ivan  Michailovitch  Becker.  Eva  had 
asked  Ermelang  to  read  a  poem.  He  and  Becker  had  known 
each  other  long,  and  when  he  had  found  the  Russian  walking  to 
and  fro  near  the  gate  he  had  simply  brought  him  up.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  Ivan  showed  himself  to  Eva's  other  friends. 

Both  were  silent  and  sat  down. 

Christian  and  Denis  had  changed  back  to  their  usual  gar- 
ments, and  now  Ermelang  was  to  read.  Susan  sat  down  near 
Becker  and  observed  him  attentively. 

Cornelius  Ermelang  was  a  delicate  creature  and  of  a  repul- 
sive ugliness.  He  had  a  steep  forehead,  watery  blue  eyes 
with  veiled  glances,  a  pendulous  nether  lip,  and  a  yellowish 
wisp  of  beard  at  the  extreme  end  of  his  chin.  His  voice  was 
extraordinarily  gentle  and  soft,  and  had  something  of  the  sing- 
song rhythm  of  a  preacher's. 

The  name  of  the  poem  was  "  Saint  Francis  and  Why  Men 
Followed  Him,"  and  its  content  was  in  harmony  with  the 
traditions  and  the  writings. 

Once  upon  a  time  Saint  Francis  was  tarrying  in  the  con- 
vent of  Portiuncula  with  Brother  Masseo  of  Marignano,  who 
was  himself  a  very  holy  man  and  could  speak  beautifully  and 
wisely  concerning  God.  And  for  this  reason  Saint  Francis 
loved  him  greatly.  Now  one  day  Saint  Francis  returned 
from  the  forest  where  he  had  been  praying,  and  just  as 
he  emerged  from  the  trees  Brother  Masseo  came  to  meet  him 
and  said:  "  Why  thee  rather  than  another?  Why  thee?  " 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS   OF  AN   ELF      63 

Saint  Francis  asked:  ''What  is  the  meaning  of  thy  words?  " 
Brother  Masseo  replied:  "  I  ask  why  all  the  world  follows  thee, 
and  why  every  man  would  see  thee  and  listen  to  thee  and  obey 
thee.  Thou  art  not  goodly  to  look  upon,  nor  learned,  nor  of 
noble  blood.  Why  is  it  that  all  the  world  follows  thee?  " 
When  Saint  Francis  heard  this  he  was  glad  in  his  heart,  and  he 
raised  his  face  to  Heaven  and  stood  without  moving  for  a  long 
space,  because  his  spirit  was  lifted  up  to  God.  But  when 
he  came  to  himself  again,  he  threw  himself  upon  his  knees 
and  praised  and  thanked  God,  and  full  of  a  devout  passion 
turned  to  Brother  Masseo  and  spoke:  "  Wouldst  thou  know 
why  they  follow  me,  and  me  always,  and  me  rather  than  an- 
other? This  grace  has  been  lent  to  me  by  the  glance  of 
Almighty  God  Himself  which  rests  on  the  good  and  the  evil 
everywhere.  For  His  holy  eyes  saw  among  the  sinners  on 
earth  none  who  was  more  wretched  than  I,  none  who  was  less 
wise  and  able,  nor  any  who  was  a  greater  sinner.  For  the 
miraculous  work  that  He  had  it  in  His  heart  to  bring  about  He 
found  no, creature  on  earth  so  mean  as  I.  And  therefore  did 
He  choose  me  to  put  to  shame  the  world  with  its  nobility  and 
its  pride  and  its  strength  and  its  beauty  and  its  wisdom,  in 
order  that  it  might  be  known  that  all  power  and  goodness 
proceed  from  Him  alone  and  from  no  created  thing,  and  that  no 
one  may  boast  before  His  face.  But  whoever  boast,  let  him 
boast  in  the  Lord."  And  Brother  Masseo  was  frightened  at 
this  answer,  which  was  so  full  of  humility  and  spoken  with 
such  fervour. 

And  the  poem  related  how  Brother  Masseo  went  into  the 
forest  out  of  which  Saint  Francis  had  come,  and  how  tones  as 
of  organ  music  came  from  the  tops  of  the  trees  and  formed 
more  and  more  clearly  the  question:  Wouldst  thou  know  why? 
Wouldst  thou  know?  And  he  cast  himself  upon  the  earth, 
upon  the  roots  and  stones,  and  kissed  the  roots  and  stones  and 
cried  out:  "I  know  why!  I  know  why!  " 


64  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

VII 

The  stanzas  had  a  sweetness  and  an  inner  ecstasy;  their 
music  was  muffled  and  infinitely  fluid,  with  many  but  shy  and 
half-hidden  rimes. 

"It  is  beautiful,"  said  Denis  Lay,  who  understood  German 
perfectly. 

And  Crammon  said:  "  It  is  like  an  old  painting  on  glass." 

"  What  I  admire  most,"  said  Denis,  "  is  that  it  brings  the 
figure  of  Saint  Francis  very  close  to  one  with  that  magical 
quality  of  cortesia  which  he  possessed  above  all  other  saints." 

"  Cortesia?  What  does  it  mean  exactly?  "  Wiguniewski 
asked.  "  Does  it  mean  a  bumble  and  devout  courtesy?  " 

Eva  arose.  "  That  is  it,"  she  said,  "  just  that."  And  she 
made  an  exquisite  gesture  with  both  hands.  All  looked  at 
her,  and  she  added:  "  To  give  what  is  mine,  and  only  to 
appear  to  take  what  is  another's,  that  is  cortesia." 

During  all  this  conversation  Christian  had  withdrawn  him- 
self from  the  others.  Aversion  was  written  on  his  face.  Even 
during  the  reading  he  had  hardly  been  able  to  keep  his  seat. 
He  did  not  know  what  it  was  that  rebelled  in  him  and  irritated 
him  supremely.  A  spirit  of  mockery  and  scorn  was  in  him 
and  fought  for  some  expression.  With  assumed  indifference 
he  called  out  to  Denis  Lay,  and  began  to  talk  to  him  about 
the  stallion  that  Lay  desired  to  sell  and  Christian  to  possess. 
He  had  offered  forty  thousand  francs  for  it.  Now  he  offered 
forty-five  thousand,  and  his  voice  was  so  loud  that  all  could 
hear  him.  Crammon  stepped  to  his  side  as  though  to  guard 
him. 

"  Eidolon!  "  Eva  cried  suddenly. 

Christian  looked  at  her  with  a  consciousness  of  guilt.  Their 
eyes  met.  The  others  became  silent  in  surprise. 

"  The  beast  is  worth  that  anywhere,"  Christian  murmured, 
without  taking  his  eyes  from  Eva. 

"  Come,  Susan,"  Eva  turned  to  the  woman,  and  about  her 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS   OF  AN   ELF      65 

mouth  curled  an  expression  of  bitterness  and  scorn.  "  He 
knows  how  to  fence  and  how  to  trade  horses.  Of  cortesia  he 
knows  nothing.  Good-night,  gentlemen."  She  bowed  and 
slipped  through  the  green  hangings. 

In  consternation  the  company  scattered. 

When  she  had  reached  her  room  Eva  threw  herself  into  a 
chair,  and  in  bitterness  of  spirit  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 
Susan  crouched  near  her  on  the  floor,  waiting  and  wondering. 
When  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  passed  she  arose  and  took 
the  clasps  out  of  Eva's  hair  and  began  to  comb  it. 

Eva  was  passive.  She  was  thinking  of  her  own  master  and 
of  what  he  had  taught  her. 

VIII 

This  is  what  her  master  had  taught  her:  Train  your  body 
to  fear  and  obey  the  spirit.  What  you  grant  the  body  beyond 
its  necessity  makes  you  its  slave.  Never  be  the  one  seduced. 
Seduce  others,  and  your  way  will  always  be  your  own  to 
see.  Be  a  secret  to  others  or  you  grow  vulgar  to  yourself. 
Give  yourself  wholly  only  to  your  work.  Passions  of  sense 
lay  waste  the  heart.  What  one  man  truly  receives  of  another 
is  never  the  fullness  of  the  hour  or  the  soul,  but  lees  and  dregs 
that  are  fructified  late  and  unconsciously. 

She  had  been  only  twelve,  when,  persuaded  by  jugglers  and 
answering  the  call  of  her  fate,  she  had  left  her  home  in  a 
remote  little  Franconian  town.  She  was  very  far  from  her 
master  then.  But  the  way  was  pre-deter mined. 

She  never  lost  herself.  She  glided  over  difficulties  and  de- 
gradations as  the  chamois  does  over  boulders  and  abysses. 
Whoever  saw  her  amid  the  strolling  jugglers  held  her  to  be 
the  kidnapped  child  of  distinguished  parents.  She  was,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  daughter  of  an  obscure  musician  named 
Daniel  Nothafft  and  of  a  servant  girl.  A  dreamy  feeling  of 
pity  and  admiration  united  her  to  her  father;  her  mother  she 
had  never  known,  and  so  discarded  her  ill-sounding  name. 


66  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

She  was  accustomed  to  pass  the  night  in  tents  and  barns. 
In  towns  by  the  sea  she  had  often  slept  in  the  shelter  of 
cliffs  wrapped  in  a  blanket.  She  knew  the  nocturnal  sky  with 
its  clouds  and  stars.  She  had  slept  on  straw  amid  the  animals 
too,  near  asses  and  dogs,  and  on  the  rickety,  over-burdened 
cart  had  ridden  on  the  roadways  through  rain  and  snow.  It 
was  a  romantic  life  that  recalled  another  age. 

She  had  had  to  sew  her  own  costumes  and  to  go  through  her 
daily  and  difficult  exercises  under  the  whip  of  the  chief  of 
the  jugglers.  But  she  learned  the  language  of  the  country,  and 
secretly  bought  at  fairs  in  cities  the  books  of  the  poets  who 
had  used  it.  Secretly  she  read,  sometimes  from  pages  torn  out 
of  the  volumes  and  thus  more  easily  concealed,  Beranger, 
Musset,  Victor  Hugo,  and  Verlaine. 

She  walked  the  tight  rope  which,  without  any  protective 
net  below,  was  slung  from  gable  to  gable  across  the  market- 
places of  villages,  and  she  walked  as  securely  as  on  the  ground. 
Or  she  acted  as  the  partner  of  a  dancing  she-bear  or  with  five 
poodles  who  turned  somersaults.  She  was  a  trapeze  artist 
too,  and  her  greatest  trick  was  to  leap  from  one  horse  in  full 
gallop  to  another.  When  she  did  that  the  hurdy-gurdy  stopped 
its  music  so  that  the  spectators  might  realize  what  a  remark- 
able thing  they  were  seeing.  She  carried  the  collection  plate 
along  the  rope,  and  her  glance  persuaded  many  a  one  to  dip 
into  his  pocket  who  had  meant  to  slink  away. 

It  was  in  villages  and  little  towns  lying  along  the  Rhone 
that  she  first  became  aware  among  the  spectators  of  a  man 
who  dragged  himself  about  with  difficulty  on  two  crutches.  He 
followed  the  troupe  from  place  to  place,  and  since  his  whole 
attention  was  fixed  on  Eva,  it  was  evident  that  he  did  so  for 
her  sake. 

It  was  after  two  years  of  this  wandering  life  that  in  Lyons 
she  was  seized  with  typhoid  fever.  Her  companions  sent  her 
to  a  hospital.  They  could  not  wait,  but  the  chief  juggler  was 
to  return  after  a  period  and  fetch  her.  When  he  did  return 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS   OF  AN  ELF      67 

she  was  just  beginning  to  convalesce.  Suddenly  by  her  bed- 
side she  also  saw  the  man  with  the  crutches.  He  took  the 
juggler  aside  and  one  could  see  that  they  were  talking  about 
money.  From  the  pressure  of  her  old  master's  hand  Eva  knew 
that  she  saw  him  for  the  last  time. 

IX 

The  man  with  the  crutches  was  named  Lucas  Anselmo  Rap- 
pard.  He  saved  Eva  and  awakened  her.  He  taught  her  her 
art.  He  took  her  under  his  care,  and  this  care  was  tyrannical 
enough.  He  did  not  set  her  free  again  until  she  had  become  all 
that  he  had  desired  to  make  of  her. 

He  had  long  lived  in  retirement  at  Toledo,  because  there  were 
three  or  four  paintings  in  the  Spanish  city  that  rewarded  him 
for  his  isolation  from  the  busy  world.  Also  he  found  that  the 
sun  of  Spain  warmed  him  through  and  through,  and  that  he 
liked  the  folk. 

In  spite  of  his  crippled  state  he  journeyed  northward  once  a 
year  to  be  near  the  ocean.  And  like  the  men  of  old  he  went 
slowly  from  place  to  place.  His  sister  Susan  was  his  unfail- 
ing companion.  It  was  on  one  of  his  return  journeys  that  he 
had  seen  Eva  quite  by  chance.  The  village  fairs  of  this  region 
had  long  attracted  him.  And  there  he  found  unexpectedly 
something  that  stimulated  his  creative  impulse.  It  was  a 
sculptor's  inspiration.  He  saw  the  form  in  his  mind's  eye. 
Here  was  the  material  ready  to  his  hand.  The  sight  of  Eva 
relit  an  idea  in  him  to  which  he  had  long  despaired  of  giving 
a  creative  embodiment. 

First  he  called  the  whole  matter  a  whim.  Later,  absorbed 
in  his  task,  he  knew  the  passion  of  a  Pygmalion. 

He  was  forty  at  that  time  or  a  little  more.  His  beardless  face 
was  thick-boned,  peasant-like,  brutal.  But  on  closer  observa- 
tion the  intellect  shone  through  the  flesh.  The  greenish-grey 
eyes,  very  deep-set  in  their  hollows,  had  so  compelling  a  glance 
that  they  surprised  and  even  frightened  others. 


68  THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

This  remarkable  man  had  an  origin  and  a  fate  no  less  re- 
markable. His  father  had  been  a  Dutch  singer,  his  mother  a 
Dalmatian.  They  had  drifted  to  Courland,  where  an  epidemic 
killed  both  at  almost  the  same  time.  The  two  children  had 
been  taken  into  the  ballet  school  of  the  theatre  at  Riga. 
Lucas  Anselmo  justified  the  most  brilliant  hopes.  His  incom- 
parable elasticity  and  lightness  surpassed  anything  that  had  yet 
been  seen  in  a  young  dancer.  At  seventeen  he  danced  at  the 
Scala  in  Milan,  and  roused  the  public  to  a  rare  exhibition  of 
enthusiasm.  But  his  success  was  out  of  its  due  time — too  late 
or  too  early.  His  whole  personality  had  something  strange 
and  curiously  transplanted;  and  soon  he  became  estranged 
from  himself  and  from  the  inner  forces  of  his  life.  At  twenty 
a  morbid  melancholy  seized  him. 

He  happened  at  that  time  to  be  dancing  in  Petrograd.  A 
young  but  lately  married  lady  of  the  court  fell  in  love  with 
him.  She  persuaded  him  to  visit  her  on  a  certain  night  in  a 
villa  beyond  the  city.  But  her  husband  had  been  warned. 
He  pleaded  the  necessity  of  going  on  a  journey  to  make  his 
wife  the  more  secure.  Then  with  his  servants  he  broke  into 
the  lovers'  chamber,  had  the  lad  beaten  cruelly,  then  tied, 
and  thrown  naked  into  the  snow.  Here  in  the  bitter  cold  the 
unhappy  dancer  lay  for  six  hours. 

A  dangerous  illness  and  a  permanent  crippling  of  his  legs 
were  the  result  of  this  violent  adventure.  Susan  nursed  him 
and  never  left  him  for  an  hour.  She  had  always  admired 
and  loved  him.  Now  she  worshipped  him.  He  had  already 
earned  a  little  fortune,  and  an  inheritance  from  his  mother's 
side  increased  it,  so  he  was  enabled  to  live  independ- 
ently. 

A  new  man  developed  in  him.  His  deformity  gave  to  his 
mind  the  resilience  and  power  that  had  been  his  body's.  In 
a  curious  way  he  penetrated  all  the  regions  of  modern  life; 
and  above  pain,  disappointment,  and  renunciation,  he  built  a 
road  from  the  senses  to  the  mind.  In  his  transformation  from 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS   OF  AN   ELF      69 

a  dancer  to  a  cripple  he  divined  a  deep  significance.  He  now 
sought  an  idea  and  a  law;  and  the  harsh  contrast  between  ex- 
ternal calm  and  inner  motion,  of  inner  calm  and  outward  rest- 
lessness, seemed  to  nim  important  in  any  interpretation  of 
mankind  and  of  his  age. 

At  twenty-two  he  set  himself  to  study  Latin,  Greek,  and 
Sanskrit.  He  became  a  thorough  student,  and  took  courses  at 
the  German  universities.  And  this  strange  student,  who 
dragged  himself  along  on  crutches,  was  often  an  object  of 
curiosity.  At  the  age  of  thirty  he  travelled  with  Susan  to 
India,  and  lived  for  four  years  at  Delhi  and  Benares.  He 
associated  with  learned  Brahmins  and  received  their  mystic 
teachings.  Once  he  had  sight  of  an  almost  legendary  Thibetan 
priest,  who  had  lived  in  a  cave  of  the  mountains  for  eighty 
years,  and  whom  the  eternal  darkness  had  blinded,  but  whom 
the  eternal  loneliness  had  made  a  saint.  The  sight  of  the 
centenarian  moved  him,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  to  tears. 
He  now  understood  saintliness  and  believed  in  it.  And  this 
saint  danced:  he  danced  at  dawn,  turning  his  blinded  eyes  to 
the  sun. 

He  saw  the  religious  festivals  in  the  temple  cities  on  the 
Ganges,  and  felt  the  nothingness  of  life  and  the  indifference  of 
death  when  he  saw  those  who  had  died  of  pestilence  float  by 
hundreds  down  the  stream.  He  had  himself  carried  into 
primeval  forests  and  jungles,  and  saw  everywhere  in  the  inex- 
tricable coil  of  life  and  death  each  taking  the  other's  form  and 
impulse — decay  becoming  birth  and  putrefaction  giving  life. 
He  was  told  of  the  marble-built  city  of  a  certain  king,  in  which 
dwelled  only  dancing  girls  taught  by  priests.  When  their 
flesh  faded  and  their  limbs  lost  their  agility,  they  were  slain. 
They  had  vowed  chastity,  and  none  was  permitted  to  survive 
the  breaking  of  that  vow.  He  approached  the  fabled  city  but 
could  not  gain  admission.  At  night  he  saw  the  fires  on  its  roofs, 
and  heard  the  songs  of  its  virginal  dancers.  Now  and  then  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  heard  a  cry  of  death. 


70  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

This  night,  with  its  fires  and  songs,  its  unseen  dancers  and 
uncertain  cries,  stored  up  new  energies  within  his  soul. 


He  took  Eva  with  him  to  Toledo.  He  had  rented  a  house 
there  in  which,  men  said,  the  painter  El  Greco  had  once 
dwelled. 

The  building  was  a  grey  cube,  rather  desolate  within.  Cats 
shared  the  dwelling,  and  owls,  bats,  and  mice. 

Several  rooms  were  filled  with  books,  and  these  books  became 
Eva's  silent  friends  in  the  years  that  came  now,  and  during 
which  she  saw  almost  no  one  but  Rappard  and  Susan. 

In  this  house  she  learned  to  know  loneliness  and  work  and 
utter  dedication  to  a  task. 

She  entered  the  house  full  of  fear  of  him  who  had  forced 
her  into  it.  His  speech  and  behaviour  intimidated  her  so  that 
she  had  terror-stricken  visions  when  she  thought  of  him.  But 
Susan  did  all  in  her  power  to  soothe  the  girl. 

Susan  would  relate  stories  concerning  her  brother  at  morn- 
ing or  in  the  evening  hours,  when  Eva  lay  with  her  body 
desperately  exhausted,  too  exhausted  often  to  sleep.  She  had 
not  been  spoiled.  The  life  with  the  troupe  of  jugglers  had 
accustomed  her  to  severe  exertions.  But  the  ceaseless  drill,  the 
monotonous  misery  of  the  first  few  months,  in  which  every- 
thing seemed  empty  and  painful,  without  allurement  or  bright- 
ness or  intelligible  purpose,  made  her  ill  and  made  her  hate 
her  own  limbs. 

It  was  Susan's  hollow  voice  that  besought  her  to  be  patient; 
it  was  Susan  who  massaged  her  arms  and  legs,  who  carried 
her  to  bed  and  read  to  her.  And  she  described  her  brother, 
who  in  her  eyes  was  a  magician  and  an  uncrowned  king,  and 
on  whose  eyes  and  breath  she  hung,  described  him  through 
his  past,  which  she  retold  in  its  scenes  and  words,  at  times 
too  fully  and  confusedly,  at  others  so  concretely  and  glowingly 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF  AN  ELF      71 

that  Eva  began  to  suspect  something  of  the  good  fortune  of 
the  coincidence  that  had  brought  her  to  his  attention. 

Finally  came  a  day  on  which  he  spoke  to  her  openly:  "  Do 
you  believe  that  you  were  born  to  be  a  dancer?  "  "  I  do  be- 
lieve it,"  she  answered.  Then  he  spoke  to  her  concerning  the 
dance,  and  her  wavering  feeling  grew  firmer.  Gradually  she 
felt  her  body  growing  lighter  and  lighter.  When  they  parted 
on  that  day,  ambition  was  beginning  to  flame  in  her  eyes. 

He  had  taught  her  to  stand  with  outstretched  arms  and  to 
let  no  muscle  quiver;  to  stand  on  the  tips  of  her  toes  so  that 
her  crown  touched  a  sharp  arrow;  to  dance  definite  figures  out- 
lined by  needles  on  the  floor  with  her  naked  feet,  and,  when 
each  movement  had  passed  into  her  very  flesh,  to  brave  the 
needles  blindfolded.  He  taught  her  to  whirl  about  a  taut 
rope  adjusted  vertically,  and  to  walk  on  high  stilts  without 
using  her  arms. 

She  had  had  to  forget  how  she  had  walked  hitherto,  how  she 
had  stridden  and  run  and  stood,  and  she  had  to  learn  anew 
how  to  walk  and  stride  and  run  and  stand.  Everything,  as  he 
said,  had  to  become  new.  Her  limbs  and  ankles  and  wrists 
had  to  adjust  themselves  to  new  functions,  even  as  a  man  who 
has  lain  in  the  mire  of  the  street  puts  on  new  garments.  "  To 
dance,"  he  would  say,  "  means  to  be  new,  to  be  fresh  at  every 
moment,  as  though  one  had  just  issued  from  the  hand  of  God." 

He  inducted  her  into  the  meaning  and  law  of  every  move- 
ment, into  the  inner  structure  and  outer  rhythm  of  every 
gesture. 

He  created  gestures  with  her.  And  about  every  gesture  he 
wove  some  experience.  He  showed  her  the  nature  of  flight,  of 
pursuit,  of  parting,  of  salutation,  of  expectancy  and  triumph 
and  joy  and  terror;  and  there  was  no  motion  of  a  finger  in 
which  the  whole  body  did  not  have  a  part.  The  play  of  the 
eyes  and  of  facial  expression  entered  this  art  so  little  that  the 
swathing  of  the  face  would  not  have  diminished  the  effect  that 
was  aimed  at. 


72  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

He  drew  the  kernel  from  each  husk;  he  demanded  the  quin- 
tessential only. 

"  Can  you  drink?  Let  me  see  you!  "  It  was  wrong. 
"  Your  gesture  was  a  shopworn  phrase.  The  man  who  had 
never  seen  another  drink  did  not  drink  thus." 

"  Can  you  pray?  Can  you  pluck  flowers,  swing  a  scythe, 
gather  grain,  bind  a  veil?  Give  me  an  image  of  each  action! 
Represent  it!  "  She  could  not.  But  he  taught  her. 

Whenever  she  fell  into  a  flat  imitation  of  reality  he  foamed 
with  rage.  "  Reality  is  a  beast!  "  he  roared,  and  hurled  one 
of  his  crutches  against  the  wall.  "  Reality  is  a  murderer." 

In  the  statues  and  paintings  of  great  artists  he  pointed  out 
to  her  the  essential  and  noble  lines,  and  illustrated  how  all  that 
had  been  thus  created  and  built  merged  harmoniously  again 
with  nature  and  her  immediacy  of  truth. 

He  spoke  of  the  help  of  music  to  her  art.  "  You  need  no 
melody  and  scarcely  tone.  The  only  thing  that  matters  is  the 
division  of  time,  the  audibly  created  measure  which  leads  and 
restrains  the  violence,  wildness,  and  passion,  or  else  the  soft- 
ness and  sustained  beauty  of  motion.  A  tambourine  and  a  fife 
suffice.  Everything  beyond  that  is  dishonesty  and  confusion. 
Beware  of  a  poetry  of  effect  that  does  not  issue  from  your 
naked  achievement." 

At  night  he  took  her  to  wine  rooms  and  taverns,  where  the 
girls  of  the  people  danced  their  artless  and  excited  dances.  He 
revealed  to  her  the  artistic  kernel  of  each,  and  let  her  dance  a 
bolero,  a  fandango,  or  a  tarantella,  which  in  this  new  embodi- 
ment had  the  effect  of  cut  and  polished  jewels. 

He  reconstructed  antique  battle-dances  for  her,  the  Pyrrhic 
and  the  Karpaian;  the  dance  of  the  Muses  about  the  altar  of 
Zeus  on  Helicon;  the  dance  of  Artemis  and  her  companions; 
the  dance  of  Delos,  which  imitated  the  path  of  Theseus  through 
the  labyrinth;  the  dance  of  the  maidens  in  honour  of  Artemis, 
during  which  they  wore  a  short  chiton  and  a  structure  of 
willow  on  their  heads;  the  vintners'  dance  preserved  on  the 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS   OF  AN  ELF      73 

cup  of  Hiero,  which  includes  all  the  motions  used  by  the 
gatherers  of  the  vine  and  the  workers  at  the  winepress.  He 
showed  her  pictures  of  the  vase  of  Frangois,  of  the  geometrical 
vase  of  Dipylon,  of  many  reliefs  and  terracotta  pieces,  and 
made  her  study  the  figures  that  had  an  entrancing  charm  and 
incomparable  rhythm  of  motion.  And  he  procured  her  music 
for  these  dances,  which  Susan  copied  from  old  manuscripts, 
and  which  he  adapted. 

And  from  these  creative  exercises  he  led  her  on  to  a  higher 
freedom.  He  now  stimulated  her  to  invent  for  herself,  to  feel 
with  originality  and  give  that  feeling  a  creative  form.  He 
vivified  her  glance,  that  was  so  often  in  thrall  to  the  technical 
or  merely  beautiful,  liberated  her  senses,  and  gave  her  a  clear 
vision  of  that  deaf,  blind  swarm  and  throng  whom  her  art 
would  have  to  affect.  He  inspired  her  with  love  for  the 
immortal  works  of  man,  armoured  her  heart  against  seduction 
by  the  vulgar,  against  a  game  but  for  the  loftiest  stakes,  against 
action  without  restraint,  being  without  poise. 

But  it  was  not  until  she  left  him  that  she  understood  him 
wholly. 

When  he  thought  her  ripe  for  the  glances  of  the  world  he 
gave  her  recommendations  to  smooth  the  way,  and  also  Susan. 
He  was  willing  to  be  a  solitary.  Susan  had  trained  a  young 
Castilian  to  give  him  the  care  he  needed.  He  did  not  say 
whether  he  intended  to  stay  in  Toledo  or  choose  some  other 
place.  Since  they  had  left  him,  neither  Eva  nor  Susan  had 
heard  from  him:  he  had  forbidden  both  letters  and  messages. 

XI 

Often  in  the  night  Susan  would  sit  in  some  dark  corner,  and 
out  of  her  deep  brooding  name  her  brother's  name.  Her 
thoughts  turned  about  a  reunion  with  him.  Her  service  to 
Eva  was  but  a  violent  interruption  of  the  accustomed  life  at 
his  side. 

She  loved  Eva,  but  she  loved  her  as  Lucas  Anselmo's  work 


74  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

and  projection.  If  Eva  gained  fame  it  was  for  him,  if  she 
gathered  treasure  it  was  for  him,  if  she  grew  in  power  it  was 
for  him.  Those  who  approached  Eva  and  felt  her  sway  were 
his  creatures,  his  serfs,  and  his  messengers. 

After  the  incident  with  Christian  Wahnschaffe,  as  Susan 
crouched  at  Eva's  feet  and,  as  so  often,  embraced  the  girl's 
knees,  she  thought:  Ah,  he  has  breathed  into  her  an  irresistible 
soul,  and  made  her  beautiful  and  radiant. 

But  always  she  harboured  a  superstitious  fear.  She  trembled 
in  secret  lest  the  irresistible  soul  should  some  day  flee  from 
Eva's  body,  and  the  radiance  of  her  beauty  be  dulled,  and 
nothing  remain  but  a  dead  and  empty  husk.  For"  that  would 
be  a  sign  to  her  that  Lucas  Anselmo  was  no  more. 

For  this  reason  it  delighted  her  when  ecstasy  and  glee,  glow 
and  tumult  reigned  in  Eva's  life,  and  she  was  cast  down  and 
plagued  by  evil  presentiments  when  the  girl  withdrew  into 
quietness  and  remained  silent  and  alone.  So  long  as  Eva 
danced  and  loved  and  was  mobile  and  adorned  her  body, 
Susan  dismissed  all  care  concerning  her  brother.  Therefore 
she  would  sit  and  fan  the  flame  from  which  his  spirit  seemed  to 
speak  to  her. 

"  Just  because  you've  chosen  the  Englishman,  you  needn't 
send  the  German  away,"  she  said.  "  You  may  take  the  one 
and  let  the  other  languish  a  while  longer.  You  can  never  tell 
how  things  will  change.  There  are  many  men:  they  rise  and 
fall.  Cardillac  is  going  down-hill  now.  I  hear  all  kinds  of 
rumours." 

Eva,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  whispered:  "  Eidolon." 

It  vexed  Susan.  "  First  you  mock  him,  then  you  sigh  for 
him!  What  folly  is  this?  " 

Eva  sprang  up  suddenly.  "  You  shan't  speak  of  him  to  me 
or  praise  him,  wretched  woman."  Her  cheeks  glowed,  and  the 
brightly  mocking  tone  in  which  she  often  spoke  to  Susan 
became  menacing. 

"  Golpes  para  besos"  Susan  murmured  in  Spanish.    "  Blows 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS   OF  AN   ELF      75 

for  kisses."  She  arose  in  order  to  comb  Eva's  hair  and  braid 
it  for  the  night. 

The  next  day  Crammon  appeared.  "  I  found  you  one  whose 
laughter  puts  to  shame  the  laughter  of  the  muleteer  of  Cor- 
dova," he  said  with  mock  solemnity.  "  Why  is  he  rejected?  " 

His  heart  bled.  Yet  he  wooed  her  for  his  friend.  Much  as 
he  loved  and  admired  Denis  Lay,  yet  Christian  was  closer  to 
him.  Christian  was  his  discovery,  of  which  he  was  vain,  and 
his  hero. 

Eva  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  glittered,  and  replied: 
"  It  is  true  that  he  knows  how  to  laugh  like  that  muleteer  of 
Cordova,  but  he  has  no  more  culture  of  the  heart  than  that 
same  fellow.  And  that,  my  dear  man,  is  not  enough." 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  us?  "  sighed  Crammon. 

"  You  may  follow  us  to  England,"  Eva  said  cheerfully. 
"  I'm  going  to  dance  at  His  Majesty's  Theatre.  Eidolon  can 
be  my  page.  He  can  learn  to  practise  reverence,  and  not  to 
chaffer  for  horses  when  beautiful  poems  are  being  read  to  me. 
Tell  him  that." 

Crammon  sighed  again.  Then  he  took  her  hand,  and  de- 
voutly kissed  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  "  I  shall  deliver  your 
message,  sweet  Ariel,"  he  said. 

XII 

Cardillac  and  Eva  fell  out,  and  that  robbed  the  man  of 
his  last  support.  The  danger  with  which  he  was  so  rashly 
playing  ensnared  him;  the  abysses  lured  him  on. 

The  external  impetus  to  his  downfall  was  furnished  by  a 
young  engineer  who  had  invented  a  hydraulic  device.  Cardillac 
had  persuaded  him  with  magnificent  promises  to  let  him 
engage  in  the  practical  exploitation  of  the  invention.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  engineer  discovered  that  he  had  been 
cheated  of  the  profits  of  his  labour.  Quietly  he  accumulated 
evidence  against  the  speculator,  unveiled  his  dishonest  deal- 
ings, and  presented  to  the  courts  a  series  of  annihilating 


76  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

charges.  Although  Cardillac  finally  offered  him  five  hundred 
thousand  francs  if  he  would  withdraw  his  charges,  the  outraged 
accuser  remained  firm. 

Other  untoward  circumstances  occurred.  The  catastrophe 
became  inevitable.  On  a  single  forenoon  the  shares  he  had 
issued  dropped  to  almost  nothing.  In  forty-eight  hours  three 
hundred  millions  of  francs  had  been  lost.  Innumerable  well- 
established  fortunes  plunged  like  avalanches  into  nothingness, 
eighteen  hundred  mechanics  and  shop-keepers  lost  all  they  had 
in  the  world,  twenty-seven  great  firms  went  into  bankruptcy, 
senators  and  deputies  of  the  Republic  were  sucked  down  in  the 
whirlpool,  and  under  the  attacks  of  the  opposition  the  very 
administration  shook. 

Felix  Imhof  hurried  to  Paris  to  save  whatever  was  possible 
out  of  the  crash.  Although  he  had  suffered  painful  losses,  he 
was  ecstatic  over  the  grandiose  spectacle  which  Cardillac's 
downfall  presented  to  the  world. 

Crammon  laughed  and  rubbed  his  hands  in  satisfaction,  and 
pointed  to  Imhof.  "  He  wanted  to  seduce  me,  but  I  was  as 
chaste  as  Joseph." 

On  the  following  evening  Imhof  went  with  his  friends  to 
visit  Eva  Sorel.  She  had  left  the  palace  which  Cardillac  had 
furnished  for  her,  and  had  rented  a  handsome  house  in  the 
Chaussee  d'Antin. 

Imhof  spoke  of  the  curious  tragedy  of  these  modern  careers. 
As  an  example  he  related  how  three  days  before  his  collapse 
Cardillac  had  appeared  at  the  headquarters  of  his  bitterest 
enemies,  the  Bank  of  Paris.  The  directors  were  having  a 
meeting.  None  was  absent.  With  folded  hands  and  tear- 
stained  face  the  sorely  beset  man  begged  for  a  loan  of  twelve 
millions.  It  was  a  drastic  symptom  of  his  naivete  that  he  asked 
help  of  those  whom  he  had  fleeced  on  the  exchange  year  in 
and  year  out,  whose  losses  had  glutted  his  wealth,  and  whom  he 
wanted  to  fight  with  the  very  loan  for  which  he  begged. 

Christian  scarcely  listened.    He  stood  with  Crammon  beside 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF  AN   ELF      77 

a  Chinese  screen.  Opposite  them  sat  Eva  in  a  curiously  dreamy 
mood,  and  not  far  from  her  was  Denis  Lay.  Others  were 
present  too,  but  Christian  gave  them  no  attention. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  commotion  near  the  door.  "  Cardil- 
lac," some  one  whispered.  All  glances  sought  him. 

It  was  indeed  Cardillac  who  had  entered.  His  boots  were 
muddy,  his  collar  and  cravat  in  disorder.  He  seemed  not  to 
have  changed  his  garments  for  a  week.  His  fists  were  clenched ; 
his  restless  eyes  wandered  from  face  to  face. 

Eva  and  Denis  remained  calmly  as  they  were.  Eva  pressed 
her  foot  against  the  edge  of  a  copper  jar  filled  with  white 
lilies.  No  one  moved.  Only  Christian,  quite  involuntarily, 
approached  Cardillac  by  a  few  paces. 

Cardillac  became  aware  of  him,  and  drew  him  by  the  sleeve 
toward  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room.  They  had  scarcely 
crossed  the  threshold  when  Cardillac  whispered  in  an  intense 
but  subdued  tone:  "  I  must  have  two  thousand  francs  or 
I'm  done  for!  Advance  me  that  much,  monsieur,  and  save 
me.  I  have  a  wife  and  a  child." 

Christian  was  astonished.  No  one  dreamed  that  the  man 
had  a  family.  And  why  turn  precisely  to  him?  Wiguniewski, 
d'Autichamps,  many  others  knew  him  far  better. 

"  I  must  be  at  the  station  in  half  an  hour,"  he  heard  the 
man  say,  and  his  hand  sought  his  purse. 

Wife  and  child!  The  words  flitted  through  his  head,  and 
there  arose  in  him  the  violent  aversion  he  always  felt  in  the 
presence  of  beggars.  What  had  he  to  do  with  it  all?  He  took 
out  the  bank  notes.  Two  thousand  francs,  he  thought,  and 
remembered  the  huge  sums  which  one  was  accustomed  to  name 
in  connection  with  the  man  who  stood  before  him  begging. 

"  I  thank  you."  Cardillac's  voice  came  to  him  as  through 
a  wall. 

Then  Cardillac  passed  him  with  bent  head.  But  two  men 
had  in  the  meantime  appeared  in  the  other  room.  At  the 
open  folding-door  the  lackeys  stood  behind  them  with  an 


78  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

embarrassed  expression,  for  the  men  were  police  officials  who 
were  seeking  Cardillac  and  had  followed  him  here. 

Cardillac,  seeing  them  and  guessing  their  errand,  recoiled 
with  a  gurgling  noise  in  his  throat.  His  right  hand  disappeared 
in  his  coat-pocket,  but  instantly  the  two  men  leaped  on  him 
and  pinioned  his  arms.  There  was  a  brief,  silent  struggle. 
Suddenly  he  was  made  fast. 

Eva  had  arisen.  Her  guests  crowded  about  her.  She  leaned 
against  Susan's  shoulder  and  turned  her  head  a  little  aside, 
as  though  a  touch  of  uncanny  terror  brushed  her.  But  she 
still  smiled,  though  now  with  pallid  cheeks. 

"  He's  magnificent,  magnificent,  even  at  this  moment," 
Imhof  whispered  to  Crammon. 

Christian  stared  at  Cardillac 's  huge  back.  It  was,  he 
couldn't  help  thinking,  like  the  back  of  an  ox  dragged  to 
slaughter.  The  two  men  between  whom  he  stood  hand-cuffed 
had  greasy  necks,  and  the  hair  on  the  back  of  their  heads  was 
dirty  and  ill-trimmed. 

An  unpleasant  taste  on  his  palate  tormented  Christian.  He 
asked  a  servant  for  a  glass  of  champagne. 

Cardillac's  words,  "  I  have  a  wife  and  a  child,"  would  not 
leave  his  mind.  On  the  contrary,  they  sounded  ever  more 
stridently  within  him.  And  suddenly  a  second,  foolish,  curious 
voice  in  him  asked:  How  do  you  suppose  they  look — this  wife, 
this  child?  Where  are  they?  What  will  become  of  them? 

It  was  as  annoying  and  as  painful  as  a  toothache. 

xm 

In  Devon,  south  of  Exeter,  Denis  Lay  had  his  country  seat. 
The  manor  stood  in  a  park  of  immemorial  trees,  velvety  swards, 
small  lakes  that  mirrored  the  sky,  and  flowerbeds  beautiful  in 
the  mildest  climate  of  such  a  latitude  on  earth. 

"  We're  quite  near  the  Gulf  Stream  here,"  Crammon  ex- 
plained to  Christian  and  Eva,  who,  like  himself,  were  Lay's 
guests.  And  he  had  an  expression  as  though  with  his  own 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF  AN   ELF      79 

hands  he  had  brought  the  warm  current  to  the  English  coast 
from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  simply  for  the  benefit  of  his  friends. 

With  a  gesture  of  sisterly  tenderness  Eva  walked  for  hours 
among  the  beds  of  blossoming  violets.  Large  surfaces  were 
mildly  and  radiantly  blue.  It  was  March. 

A  company  of  English  friends  was  expected,  but  not  until 
two  days  later. 

The  four  friends,  going  for  a  walk,  had  been  overtaken  by 
showers  and  came  home  drenched.  When  they  had  changed 
their  clothes,  they  met  for  tea  in  the  library.  It  was  a  great 
room  with  wainscoting  of  dark  oak  and  mighty  cross-beams, 
Halfway  up  there  ran  along  the  walls  a  gallery  with  carved 
balustrades,  and  at  one  end,  between  the  pointed  windows, 
appeared  the  gilded  pipes  of  an  organ. 

The  light  was  dim  and  the  rain  swished  without.  Eva  held 
an  album  of  Holbein  drawings,  and  turned  the  pages  slowly. 
Christian  and  Crammon  were  playing  at  chess.  Denis  watched 
them  for  a  while.  Then  he  sat  down  at  the  organ  and  began 
to  play. 

Eva  looked  up  from  the  pictures  and  listened. 

"  I've  lost  the  game,"  Christian  said.  He  arose  and  mounted 
the  steps  to  the  gallery.  He  leaned  over  the  balustrade  and 
looked  down.  In  an  outward  curve  of  the  balustrade  there 
lay,  like  an  egg  in  its  cup,  a  globe  on  a  metal  stand. 

"  What  were  you  playing?  "    Eva  asked,  as  Denis  paused. 

He  turned  around.  "  I've  been  trying  to  compose  a  passage 
from  the  Song  of  Songs,"  he  answered.  He  played  again  and 
sang  in  an  agreeable  voice:  "  Arise,  thou  lovely  one,  for  the 
winter  is  past." 

The  sound  of  the  organ  stirred  a  feeling  of  hatred  in 
Christian.  He  gazed  upon  Eva's  form.  In  a  gown  of  sea- 
green,  slim,  far,  estranged,  she  sat  there.  And  as  he  looked 
at  her  there  blended  with  his  hatred  of  the  music  another 
feeling — one  of  oppression  and  of  poignant  pain,  and  his 
heart  began  to  throb  violently. 


8o  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  Arise,  thou  lovely  one,  and  come  with  me,"  Denis  sang 
again,  and  Crammon  softly  hummed  the  air  too.  Eva  looked 
up,  and  her  glance  met  Christian's.  In  her  face  there  was  a 
mysterious  expression  of  loftiness  and  love. 

Christian  took  the  globe  from  its  stand  and  played  with 
it.  He  let  it  roll  back  and  forth  between  his  hands  on  the 
flat  balustrade  like  a  rubber  ball.  The  sphere  suddenly  slipped 
from  him,  fell  and  rolled  along  the  floor  to  Eva's  feet. 

Denis  and  Crammon  gathered  about  it;  Christian  came  down 
from  the  gallery. 

Eva  picked  up  the  globe  and  went  toward  Christian.  He 
took  it  from  her,  but  she  at  once  held  out  her  hands  again. 
Then  she  held  it  daintily  poised  upon  the  fingertips  of  her 
right  hand.  Her  left  hand,  with  fingers  spread  out,  she  held 
close  to  it;  her  head  was  gently  inclined,  her  lips  half  open. 

"  So  this  is  the  world,"  she  said,  "  your  world !  The  blue 
bits  are  the  seas,  and  that  soiled  yellow  the  countries.  How 
ugly  the  countries  are,  and  how  jagged!  They  look  like  a 
cheese  at  which  mice  have  nibbled.  O  world,  the  things  that 
creep  about  on  you!  The  things  that  happen  on  you!  I  hold 
you  now,  world,  and  carry  you!  I  like  that!  " 

The  three  men  smiled,  but  a  psychical  shudder  passed 
through  them.  For  they  could  no  longer  stand  in  human 
erectness  on  this  little  round  earth.  A  breath  of  the  dancer 
could  blow  them  down  into  the  immeasurable  depths  of  the 
cosmos. 

And  Christian  saw  that  Denis,  fighting  with  an  impulse, 
regarded  him.  Suddenly  the  Englishman  came  up  to  him  and 
held  out  his  hand.  And  Christian  took  the  hand  of  his  vic- 
torious rival,  and  knew  in  his  secretest  mind  that  an  ultimate 
advantage  was  his.  For  between  Eva's  face  and  the  smudged 
globe  he  seemed  to  see  a  ghostly  little  figure  which  charmed  her 
with  its  glance  and  which  was  a  tiny  image  of  himself — 
Eidolon. 

They  planned  that  summer  to  return  to  the  manor  and  hunt 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF  AN   ELF      81 

the  deer,  as  was  the  custom  of  the  gentlemen  of  that  region. 
But  when  summer  came  all  things  had  changed,  and  Denis 
had  glided  from  the  smooth  sphere  of  earth  into  the  depth. 

XIV 

One  day  in  London  Crammon  came  to  Christian,  sat  down 
affectionately  beside  him,  and  said:  "  I  am  leaving." 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  Christian  asked  in  surprise. 

"  North,  to  fish  salmon,"  Crammon  replied.  "  I'll  join  you 
later  or  you  can  join  me." 

"  But  why  go  at  all?  " 

"  Because  I'll  go  straight  to  the  dogs  if  I  have  to  see  this 
woman  any  longer  without  possessing  her.  That's  all." 

Christian  looked  at  Crammon  with  a  flame  in  his  eyes,  and 
checked  a  gesture  of  angry  jealousy.  Then  his  face  assumed 
its  expression  of  friendly  mockery  again. 

So  Crammon  departed. 

Eva  Sorel  became  the  undisputed  queen  of  the  London 
season.  Her  name  was  everywhere.  The  women  wore  hats  a  la 
Eva  Sorel,  the  men  cravats  in  her  favourite  colours.  She 
threw  into  the  shade  the  most  sought-after  celebrities  of  the 
day — including  the  Negro  bruiser,  Jackson.  Fame  came  to  her 
in  full  draughts,  and  gold  by  the  pailfuls. 

xv 

May  was  very  hot  in  London  that  year.  Denis  and  Christian 
planned  a  night's  pleasure  on  the  Thames.  They  rented  a 
steam  yacht  named  "  Aldebaran,"  ordered  an  exquisite  meal  on 
board,  and  Denis  sent  out  invitations  to  his  friends. 

Fourteen  members  of  his  set  joined  the  party.  The  yacht 
lay  near  the  houses  of  Parliament,  and  shortly  before  mid- 
night the  guests  appeared  in  evening  dress.  The  son  of  the 
Russian  ambassador  was  among  them,  the  Honourable  James 
Wheely,  whose  brother  was  in  the  ministry,  Lord  and  Lady 
Westmoreland,  Eva  Sorel,  Prince  Wiguniewski,  and  others. 


82  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

On  the  stroke  of  twelve  the  "Aldebaran  "  started  out,  and 
the  small  orchestra  of  well-chosen  artists  began  to  play. 

When  the  yacht  on  its  way  upstream  had  reached  the  rail- 
way bridge  of  Battersea,  there  became  visible  on  the  left  bank 
in  the  dim  light  of  the  street  lamps  an  innumerable  throng 
of  men  and  women,  close-packed,  head  by  head,  thousands 
upon  thousands. 

They  were  strikers  from  the  docks.  Why  they  stood  here, 
so  silent  and  so  menacing  in  their  silence,  was  known  to  no  one 
on  board.  Perhaps  it  was  a  demonstration  of  some  sort. 

Denis,  who  had  had  a  good  deal  of  champagne,  went  to  the 
railing,  and  in  his  recklessness  shouted  three  cheers  across  the 
river.  No  sound  answered  him.  The  human  mass  stood  like 
a  wall,  and  in  the  sombre  faces  that  turned  toward  the  gleam 
of  the  yacht's  light  no  muscle  moved. 

Then  Denis  said  to  Christian,  who  had  joined  him:  "  Let's 
swim  across.  Whoever  reaches  shore  first  is  victor  of  the 
race,  and  must  ask  those  people  what  they  are  waiting  for  and 
why  they  don't  go  home  at  this  hour  of  the  night." 

"  Swim  over  to  them?  "  Christian  shook  his  head.  He  was 
asked  to  touch  slimy  worms  with  his  hands  and  pretend  they 
were  trophies. 

"  Then  I'll  do  it  alone!  "  Denis  exclaimed,  and  threw  his 
coat  and  waistcoat  down  on  the  deck. 

He  was  known  to  be  an  admirable  swimmer.  The  com- 
pany therefore  took  his  notion  as  one  of  the  bizarre  pranks 
for  which  he  was  known.  Only  Eva  tried  to  restrain  him. 
She  approached  him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  In  vain. 
He  was  quite  ready  to  jump,  when  the  captain  grasped  his 
shoulder  and  begged  him  to  desist,  since  the  river,  despite  its 
calm  appearance,  had  a  strong  undercurrent.  But  Denis  eluded 
him,  ran  to  the  promenade  deck,  and  in  another  moment  his 
slender  body  flew  into  the  black  water. 

No  one  had  a  presentiment  of  disaster.  The  swimmer 
advanced  with  powerful  strokes.  The  watchers  on  board  were 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS   OF  AN   ELF      83 

sure  that  he  would  easily  reach  the  Chelsea  shore.  But  sud- 
denly, in  the  bright  radiance  of  a  searchlight  from  shore, 
they  saw  him  throw  up  his  arms  above  his  head.  At  the  same 
moment  he  cried  piercingly  for  help.  Without  hesitation  a 
member  of  the  little  orchestra,  a  cellist,  sprang  overboard  in 
all  his  garments  to  help  the  drowning  man.  But  the  current 
caused  by  the  ebbtide  was  very  powerful,  and  both  Denis  and 
the  musician  were  whirled  onward  by  it,  and  disappeared  in 
the  inky  waves. 

Suddenly  the  confusion  caused  by  these  happenings  lifted 
from  Christian's  mind,  and  before  any  could  restrain  him,  he 
was  in  the  water.  He  heard  a  cry,  and  knew  that  it  came  from 
Eva's  lips.  The  ladies  and  gentlemen  on  board  scurried  help- 
lessly to  and  fro. 

Christian  could  no  longer  make  out  the  forms  of  the  other 
two.  The  water  seemed  to  bank  itself  against  him  and  hinder 
his  movements.  A  sudden  weakness  took  possession  of  him, 
but  he  felt  no  fear.  Raising  his  head  he  saw  the  silent  masses 
of  the  workers,  men  and  women  with  such  expressions  as  he 
had  never  seen.  Although  the  glance  which  he  directed  toward 
them  was  but  a  momentary  one,  he  felt  almost  sure  that  their 
sombre  earnestness  of  gaze  was  fixed  on  him,  and  that  these 
thousands  and  thousands  were  waiting  for  him,  and  for  him 
alone.  His  weakness  increased.  It  seemed  to  arise  from 
his  heart,  which  grew  heavier  and  heavier.  At  that  moment 
a  life-boat  reached  him. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  the  earliest  dawn,  the 
bodies  of  Denis  and  the  musician  were  found  jammed  between 
two  beams  near  the  arches  of  a  bridge.  Now  they  lay  on 
deck  and  Christian  could  contemplate  them.  The  guests  had 
lefg  the  ship.  Eva,  too,  had  gone.  She  had  been  deeply 
shaken,  and  Prince  Wiguniewski  had  accompanied  her  home. 

The  sailors  had  gone  to  their  bunks.  The  deck  was  empty, 
and  Christian  sat  alone  with  the  two  dead  men. 

The  sun  arose.    The  waters  of  the  river  began  to  glow.    The 


84  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

pavements  of  the  desolate  streets,  the  walls  and  the  windows 
of  the  houses  flushed  with  the  red  of  dawn.  Sea-gulls  circled 
about  the  smokestack. 

Christian  sat  alone  with  the  dead  men.  He  was  huddled  in 
an  old  coat  which  the  captain  had  thrown  around  his  shoulders. 
Steadijy  he  gazed  upon  the  faces  of  the  dead.  They  were 
swollen  and  ugly. 

XVI 

North  of  Loch  Lomond,  Christian  and  Crammon  wandered 
about  shooting  snipes  and  wild  ducks.  The  land  was  rough 
and  wild;  always  within  their  hearing  thundered  the  sea; 
storm-harried  masses  of  cloud  raced  across  the  sky. 

"  My  father  will  be  far  from  pleased,"  said  Christian.  "  I've 
spent  two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  marks  in  the  last  ten 
months." 

"  Your  mother  will  persuade  him  to  bear  it,"  Crammon 
answered.  "  Anyhow,  you're  of  age.  You  can  use  several 
times  that  much  without  any  one  hindering  you." 

Christian  threw  back  his  head,  and  drew  the  salty  air  deep 
into  his  lungs.  "  I  wonder  what  little  Letitia  is  doing,"  he 
said. 

"  I  think  of  the  child  myself  at  times.  She  shouldn't  be 
left  entirely  to  that  old  schemer,"  Crammon  replied. 

Her  kiss  no  longer  burned  on  Christian's  lips,  for  other 
flames  had  touched  them  since.  Like  laughing  putti  in  a  paint- 
ing, the  lovely  faces  fluttered  about  him.  Many  of  them,  to 
be  sure,  were  laughing  now  no  more. 

In  a  dark  gown,  emerging  from  between  two  white  columns, 
Eva  had  taken  leave  of  him.  He  seemed  to  see  her  still — the 
brunette  pallor  of  her  face,  her  inexpressibly  slender  hand,  the 
most  eloquent  hand  in  the  world. 

Jestingly  and  familiarly  she  had  spoken  to  him  in  the 
language  of  her  German  homeland,  which  seemed  more  pierc- 
ingly sweet  and  melodious  in  her  mouth  than  in  any  other's. 


ON  THE  FINGERTIPS  OF  AN   ELF      85 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Eidolon?  "  she  had  asked  care- 
lessly. 

He  had  answered  with  a  gesture  of  uncertainty.  He  evi- 
dently thought  that  his  going  or  coming  was  indifferent  to  her. 

"  It  isn't  nice  of  you  to  go  without  asking  leave,"  she  said, 
and  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders.  "  But  perhaps  it  is  just 
as  well.  You  confuse  me.  I  am  beginning  to  think  of  you, 
and  I  don't  want  to  do  that." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  Because  I  don't.    Why  do  you  need  reasons?  " 

The  dead  and  swollen  face  of  Denis  Lay  rose  up  before  them, 
and  they  both  saw  it  in  the  empty  air. 

After  a  little  he  had  dared  to  ask:  "  When  shall  we  meet 
again?  " 

"  It  depends  on  you,"  she  had  answered.  "  Always  let  me 
know  where  you  are,  so  that  I  can  send  for  you.  Of  course, 
it's  nonsense,  and  I  won't.  But  it  might  just  happen  that  in 
some  whim  I  may  want  you  and  none  other.  Only  you  must 
learn —  She  stopped  and  smiled. 

"  What,  what  must  I  learn?  " 

"  Ask  your  friend  Crammon.  He'll  teach  you."  After  these 
words  she  had  left  him. 

The  sea  roared  like  a  herd  of  steers.  Christian  stopped  and 
turned  to  Crammon.  "  Listen,  Bernard,  there's  a  matter  that 
comes  back  curiously  into  my  mind.  When  I  last  talked  to 
Eva  she  said  there  was  something  I  was  to  learn  before  I 
could  see  her  again.  And  when  I  asked  after  her  meaning, 
she  said  that  you  could  give  me  a  hint.  What  is  it?  What 
am  I  to  learn?  " 

Crammon  answered  seriously:  "  You  see,  my  boy,  these 
things  are  rather  complicated.  Some  people  like  their  steak 
overdone,  others  almost  raw,  most  people  medium.  Well,  if 
you  don't  know  a  certain  person's  taste  and  serve  the  steak 
the  way  you  yourself  prefer  it,  you  risk  making  a  blunder 
and  looking  like  a  fool.  People  are  far  from  simple." 


86  THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Bernard." 

"  Doesn't  matter  a  bit,  old  chap!  Don't  bother  your  hand- 
some head  about  it.  Let's  go  on.  This  damned  country  makes 
me  melancholy." 

They  went  on.  But  there  was  an  unknown  sadness  in 
Christian's  heart. 


LETITIA  felt  vague  longings. 

She  accompanied  her  aunt,  the  countess,  to  the  south  of 
Switzerland,  and  loitered  in  wonder  at  the  foot  of  blue  glaciers ; 
she  lay  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Geneva,  dreaming  or  reading 
poetry.  When  she  appeared  smiling  on  the  promenade,  admir- 
ing glances  were  all  about  her.  Enthusiastically  conscious 
of  her  youth  and  of  her  emotional  wealth,  she  enjoyed  the 
day  and  the  evening  as  each  came,  pictures  and  books,  fra- 
grances and  tones.  But  her  longings  did  not  cease. 

Many  came  and  spoke  to  her  of  love — some  frankly  and 
some  by  implication.  And  she  too  was  full  of  love — not  for 
him  who  spoke,  but  for  his  words,  expressions,  presages.  If 
a  delighted  glance  met  hers,  it  delighted  her.  And  she  lent  her 
ear  with  equal  patience  to  wooers  of  twenty  or  of  sixty. 

But  her  yearnings  were  not  assuaged. 

Her  aunt,  the  countess,  said:  "  Have  nothing  to  do  with 
aristocrats,  my  dear.  They  are  uncultivated  and  full  of  false 
pride.  They  don't  know  the  difference  between  a  woman 
and  a  horse.  They  would  nail  your  young  heart  to  a  family 
tree,  and  if  you  don't  appreciate  that  favour  sufficiently,  they 
stamp  you  as  declassee  for  life.  If  they  have  no  money  they 
are  too  stupid  to  earn  any;  if  they  have  it  they  don't  know 
how  to  spend  it  sensibly.  Have  no  dealings  with  them. 
They're  not  quite  human." 

The  countess'  experiences  with  the  aristocracy  had  been 
very  bitter.  "  You  can  imagine,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  that  I 
was  hard  pressed  in  my  time  to  be  forced  to  say  these  things 
now." 

87 


88  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Letitia  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed  and  regarded  her  silk 
stocking,  which  had  a  little  hole  in  it,  and  still  felt  the  same 
longing. 

Judith  wrote  her:  "  We  expect  you  and  the  countess  so  soon 
as  we  are  settled  in  our  new  house  near  Frankfort.  It's  a  kind 
of  fairy  palace  that  papa  has  built  us,  and  it's  to  be  the  family 
seat  hereafter.  It's  situated  in  the  forest  of  Schwanheim,  and 
is  only  ten  minutes  by  motor  from  the  city.  Everybody  who 
has  seen  it  is  mad  about  it.  Felix  Imhof  says  it  reminds  him  of 
the  palace  of  the  Minotaur.  There  are  thirty-four  guest- 
rooms, a  gallery  fifty  metres  long  with  niches  and  columns, 
and  a  library  that's  been  modelled  after  the  cupola  of  St. 
Peter's  at  Rome.  There  are  twenty  thousand  perfectly  new 
books  in  it.  Who's  to  read  them  all?  " 

"  I  love  the  thought  of  them,"  said  Letitia,  and  pressed  her 
hand  against  her  heart. 

She  had  had  a  golden  charm  made  in  the  likeness  of  a  tiny 
toad.  She  did  not  wear  it  about  her  neck,  but  kept  it  in  a 
little  leathern  case,  from  which  she  often  took  it,  and  brooded 
over  it  lovingly. 

In  Schwetzingen  she  had  met  a  young  Argentinian  of  Ger- 
man descent.  He  was  studying  law  at  Heidelberg,  but  he 
confessed  to  her  frankly  that  he  had  come  to  Europe  to  get 
him  a  German  wife.  He  gave  her  this  information  at  noon. 
At  night  he  gave  her  to  understand  that  in  her  he  had  met  his 
goal. 

His  name  was  Stephen  Gunderam.  His  skin  was  olive, 
his  eyes  glowing,  his  hair  coal  black  and  parted  in  the  mid- 
dle. Letitia  was  fascinated  by  his  person,  the  countess  by  the 
rumours  of  his  wealth.  She  made  inquiries,  and  discovered 
that  the  rumours  had  not  been  exaggerated.  The  lands  of 
the  Gunderams  on  the  Rio  Plata  were  more  extensive  than  the 
Duchy  of  Baden. 

"Now,  sweetheart,  there's  a  husband  for  you!"  said  the 
countess.  But  when  she  considered  that  she  would  have  to 


AN   OW*L   ON   EVERY   POST  89 

part  with  Letitia,  she  began  to  cry,  and  lost  her  appetite  for  a 
whole  forenoon. 

Stephen  Gunderam  told  them  about  his  far,  strange  country, 
about  his  parents,  brothers,  servants,  herds,  houses.  He 
declared  that  the  bride  he  brought  home  would  be  a  queen. 
He  was  so  strong  that  he  could  bend  a  horse-shoe.  But  he 
was  afraid  of  spiders,  believed  in  evil  omens,  and  suffered 
from  frequent  headaches.  At  such  times  he  would  lie  in 
bed,  and  drink  warm  beer  mixed  with  milk  and  the  yolk  of 
eggs.  This  was  a  remedy  which  an  old  mulatto  woman  had 
once  given  him. 

Letitia  barely  listened.     She  was  reading: 

"  And  have  you  seen  an  inmost  dream 
Fled  from  you  and  denied? 
Then  gaze  into  the  flowing  stream, 
Where  all  things  change  and  glide." 

"  You  really  must  hurry,  darling,"  the  countess  admonished 
her  again. 

But  Letitia  was  so  full  of  longing. 

ii 

In  a  city  on  the  Rhine,  Christian  and  Crammon  were  delayed 
by  an  accident.  Something  had  happened  to  the  motor  of 
their  car,  and  the  chauffeur  needed  a  whole  day  for  repairs. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening  of  September,  so  they  left  the 
city  streets  and  wandered  quietly  along  the  bank  of  the  river. 
When  darkness  fell,  they  drifted  by  chance  into  a  beer-garden 
near  the  water.  The  tables  and  benches,  rammed  firmly  into 
the  earth,  stood  among  trees  full  of  foliage,  and  were  occu- 
pied by  several  hundred  people — tradesmen,  workingmen,  and 
students. 

"  Let  us  rest  a  while  and  watch  the  people,"  said  Crammon. 
And  near  the  entrance  they  found  a  table  with  two  vacant 
seats.  A  bar-maid  placed  two  pitchers  of  beer  before  them. 


go  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Under  the  trees  the  air  had  something  subterranean  about 
it,  for  it  was  filled  with  the  odour  of  the  exudations  of 
so  many  people.  The  few  lamps  had  iridescent  rings  of  smoke 
about  them.  At  the  adjoining  table  sat  students  with  their 
red  caps  and  other  fraternity  insignia.  They  had  fat,  puffed- 
out  faces  and  insolent  voices.  One  of  them  hit  the  table  three 
times  with  his  stick.  Then  they  began  to  sing. 

Crammon  opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  and  his  lips  twitched 
mockingly.  He  said:  "  That's  my  notion  of  the  way  wild 
Indians  act — Sioux  or  Iroquois."  Christian  did  not  answer. 
He  kept  his  arms  quite  close  to  his  body,  and  his  shoulders 
drawn  up  a  little.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  noise  at  all  the 
tables,  and,  after  a  while,  Christian  said:  "  Do  let  us  go.  I'm 
not  comfortable  here." 

"Ah,  but  my  dear  boy,  this  is  the  great  common  people!" 
Crammon  instructed  him  with  a  mixture  of  arrogance  and 
mockery.  "  Thus  do  they  sing  and  drink  and — smell.  '  And 
calmly  flows  the  Rhine.'  Your  health,  your  Highness!  "  He 
always  called  Christian  that  among  strangers,  and  was  delighted 
when  those  who  overheard  showed  a  respectful  curiosity.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  several  of  the  men  at  their  table  looked  at 
them  in  some  consternation,  and  then  whispered  among  them- 
selves. 

A  young  girl  with  blond  braids  of  hair  wreathed  about  her 
head  had  entered  the  garden.  She  stopped  near  the  entrance, 
and  looked  searchingly  from  table  to  table.  The  students 
laughed,  and  one  called  out  to  her.  She  hesitated  shyly.  Yet 
she  went  up  to  him.  "  Whom  are  you  looking  for,  pretty 
maiden?  "  a  freshman  asked.  The  girl  did  not  answer.  "  Hide 
in  the  pitcher  for  your  forwardness,"  a  senior  cried.  "  It 
is  for  me  to  ask."  The  freshman  grinned,  and  took  a  long 
draught  of  beer.  "What  do  you  desire,  little  maiden?  "  the 
senior  asked  in  a  beery  voice.  "  Have  you  come  to  fetch  your 
father,  who  clings  too  lovingly  to  his  jug?  "  The  girl  blushed 
and  nodded.  She  was  asked  to  give  her  name,  and  said  it 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY   POST  91 

was  Katherine  Zollner.  Her  father,  she  said,  was  a  boatman. 
She  spoke  softly,  yet  so  that  Christian  and  Crammon  under- 
stood what  she  said.  Her  father  was  due  to  join  his  ship 
for  Cologne  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  "  For  Cologne," 
the  senior  growled.  "  Give  me  a  kiss,  and  I'll  find  your 
father  for  you." 

The  girl  trembled  and  recoiled.  But  the  fraternity  approved 
of  the  demand,  and  roared  applause.  "  Don't  pretend !  "  the 
senior  said.  He  got  up,  put  his  arms  roughly  about  her  waist, 
and,  despite  her  resistance  and  fright,  he  kissed  her. 

"  Me,  too!  Me,  too!  "  The  cries  arose  from  the  others. 
The  girl  had  already  been  passed  on  to  a  second,  a  third 
snatched  her,  then  a  fourth,  fifth,  sixth.  She  could  not  cry 
out.  She  could  scarcely  breathe.  Her  resistance  grew  feebler, 
the  roaring  and  the  laughter  louder.  The  fellows  at  the  neigh- 
bouring table  grew  envious.  A  fat  man  with  warts  on  his 
face  called  out:  "Now  you  come  to  us!  "  His  comrades 
brayed  with  laughter.  When  the  last  student  let  her  go,  it 
was  this  man  who  grasped  her,  kissed  her  and  threw  her  toward 
his  neighbour.  More  and  more  men  arose,  stretched  out  their 
arms,  and  demanded  the  defenceless  victim.  Nothing  hap- 
pened except  that  they  kissed  her.  Yet  there  spread  through 
the  crowd  a  wildness  of  lust,  so  that  even  the  women  screeched 
and  cried  out.  The  students,  in  the  meantime,  proud  of  their 
little  game,  raised  their  rough  voices  and  sang  a  foolish  song. 

The  body  of  the  girl,  now  an  unresisting  and  almost  life- 
less thing,  was  whirled  from  arm  to  arm.  Christian  and  Cram- 
mon had  arisen.  They  gazed  into  the  quivering  throng  under 
the  trees,  heard  the  shrieks,  the  cries,  the  laughter,  saw  the 
girl,  now  far  away,  and  the  hands  stretched  out  after  her,  and 
her  face  with  eyes  that  were  now  closed,  now  open  again  in 
horror.  At  last  one  was  found  who  had  compassion.  He  was 
a  young  workingman,  and  he  hit  the  man  who  was  just  kissing 
the  girl  square  between  the  eyes.  Two  others  then  attacked 
him,  and  there  ensued  a  rough  fight,  while  the  girl  with  her 


92  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

little  remaining  strength  reeled  toward  the  fence  where  the 
ground  was  grassy.  Her  hair  fell  loose,  her  blue  bodice  was 
torn  and  showed  her  naked  bosom,  her  face  was  covered  with 
ugly  bruises.  She  tried  to  keep  erect,  groped  about,  but  fell. 
A  few  thoughtful  people  now  came  up,  helped  her,  and  asked 
each  other  what  was  to  be  done. 

Christian  and  Crammon  followed  the  shore  of  the  river  back 
to  the  city.  The  students  had  begun  a  new  ditty,  that  sounded 
discordantly  through  the  night,  until  the  distance  gradually 
silenced  it. 

m 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  Christian  left  his  couch,  slipped 
into  a  silk  dressing  gown  and  entered  Crammon's  room.  He  lit 
a  candle,  sat  down  by  the  side  of  Crammon's  bed,  and  shook 
his  sleeping  friend  by  the  shoulder.  Crammon  battled  with 
sleep  itself,  and  Christian  turned  his  head  away  in  order  not 
to  see  the  struggling,  primitive  face. 

At  last,  after  much  grunting  and  groaning,  Crammon  opened 
his  eyes.  "  What  do  you  want?  "  he  asked  angrily.  "  Are  you 
practising  to  play  a  ghost?  " 

"  I  would  like  to  ask  you  something,  Bernard,"  Christian 
said. 

This  enraged  Crammon  all  the  more.  "  It  is  crazy  to  rob 
a  man  of  his  well-deserved  rest.  Are  you  moonstruck,  or  have 
you  a  bellyache?  Ask  what  you  want  to  ask,  but  hurry!  " 

"  Do  you  believe  I  do  right  to  live  as  I  do?  "  asked  Chris- 
tian. "  Be  quite  honest  for  once,  and  answer  me." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  that  he's  moonstruck!  "  Crammon  was 
truly  horrified.  "  His  mind  is  wandering.  We  must  summon 
a  physician."  He  half-rose,  and  fumbled  for  the  electric 
button. 

"  Don't  do  that!  "  Christian  restrained  him  mildly,  and 
smiled  a  vexed  smile.  "  Try  to  consider  what  I've  said.  Rub 
your  eyes  if  you  aren't  quite  awake  yet.  There's  time  enough 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST  93 

for  sleep.  But  I  am  asking  you,  Bernard,  for  your  quite  sin- 
cere opinion:  Do  you  think  I  am  right  in  living  as  I  do?  " 

"  My  dear  Christian  Wahnschaffe,  if  you  can  tell  me  by 
what  process  this  craze  has " 

"  Don't  jest,  Bernard,"  Christian  interrupted  him,  frown- 
ing. "  This  is  no  time  for  a  jest.  Do  you  think  that  I  should 
have  remained  with  Eva?  " 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Crammon.  "  She  would  have  betrayed 
you;  she  would  have  betrayed  me.  She  would  betray  the 
emperor,  and  yet  stand  guiltless  in  the  sight  of  God.  You 
can't  reckon  with  her,  you  can't  really  be  yourself  with  her. 
She  was  fashioned  for  the  eye  alone.  Even  that  little  story 
of  the  muleteer  of  Cordova  was  a  trick.  Be  content,  and  let 
me  sleep." 

Christian  replied  thoughtfully.  "  I  don't  understand  what 
you  say,  and  you  don't  understand  what  I  mean.  Since  I  left 
her  I  feel  sometimes  as  though  I  had  grown  hunchbacked. 
Jesting  aside,  Bernard,  I  get  up  sometimes  and  a  terror  comes 
over  me.  I  stretch  myself  out.  I  know  that  I'm  straight, 
and  yet  I  feel  as  though  I  were  hunchbacked." 

"  Completely  out  of  his  head,"  Crammon  murmured. 

"  And  now  tell  me  another  thing,  Bernard,"  Christian  con- 
tinued, undeflected  by  his  friend,  and  his  clear,  open  face 
assumed  an  icy  expression.  "  Should  we  not  have  helped  the 
boatman's  daughter,  you  and  I?  Or  should  I  not  have  done 
so,  if  you  did  not  care  to  take  the  trouble?  Tell  me  that!  " 

"  The  devil  take  it!    What  boatman's  daughter?  " 

"  Are  you  so  forgetful?  The  girl  in  the  beer-garden.  She 
even  gave  her  name — Katherine  Zollner.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber? And  how  those  ruffians  treated  her?  " 

"Was  I  to  risk  my  skin  for  a  boatman's  daughter?  "  Cram- 
mon asked,  enraged.  "  People  of  that  sort  may  take  their 
pleasures  in  their  own  fashion.  What  is  it  to  you  or  to  me? 
Did  you  try  to  hold  back  the  paws  of  the  wild  beasts  that 
tore  up  Adda  Castillo?  And  that  was  a  good  deal  worse  than 


94  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

being  kissed  by  a  hundred  greasy  snouts.  Don't  be  an  idiot, 
my  dear  fellow,  and  let  me  sleep!  " 

"  I  am  curious,"  said  Christian. 

"  Curious?     What  about?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  the  house  where  she  lives  and  see  how  she 
is.  I  want  you  to  go  along.  Get  up." 

Crammon  opened  his  mouth  very  wide  in  his  astonish- 
ment. "  Go  now?  "  he  stammered,  "  at  night?  Are  you  quite 
crazy?  " 

"  I  knew  you'd  scold,"  Christian  said  softly  and  with  a 
dreamy  smile.  "  But  that  curiosity  torments  me  so  that  I've 
simply  been  turning  from  side  to  side  in  bed."  And  in  truth 
his  face  had  an  expression  of  expectation  and  of  subtle  desire 
that  was  new  to  Crammon.  He  went  on:  "I  want  to  see  what 
she  is  doing,  what  her  life  is  like,  what  her  room  looks  like. 
One  should  know  about  all  that.  We  are  hopelessly  ignorant 
about  people  of  that  kind.  Do  please  come  on,  Bernard."- 
His  tone  was  almost  cajoling. 

Crammon  sighed.  He  waxed  indignant.  He  protested  the 
frailty  of  his  health  and  the  necessity  of  sleep  for  his  wearied 
mind.  Since  Christian,  however,  opposed  to  all  these  objec- 
tions an  insensitive  silence,  and  since  Crammon  did  not  want 
to  see  him  visit  a  dangerous  and  disreputable  quarter  of  the 
city  alone  by  night,  he  finally  submitted,  and,  grumbling  still, 
arose  from  his  bed. 

Christian  bathed  and  dressed  with  his  accustomed  care. 
Before  leaving  the  hotel  they  consulted  a  directory,  and  found 
the  address  of  the  boatman.  They  hired  a  cab.  It  was  half- 
past  four  in  the  morning  when  their  cab  reached  the  hut  beside 
the  river  bank.  There  was  light  in  the  windows. 

Crammon  was  still  at  a  loss  to  comprehend.  With  the  rusty 
bell-pull  in  his  hand,  his  confused  and  questioning  eyes  sought 
Christian  once  more.  But  the  latter  paid  no  attention  to  his 
friend.  A  care-worn,  under-nourished  woman  appeared  at  the 
door.  Crammon  was  forced  to  speak,  and,  with  inner  vexa- 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY   POST  95 

tion,  said  that  they  had  come  to  ask  after  her  daughter.  The 
woman,  who  immediately  imagined  that  her  daughter  had  had 
secret  affairs  with  rich  gentlemen,  stepped  aside  and  let  the  two 
pass  her. 

IV 

What  Crammon  saw  and  what  Christian  saw  was  not  the 
same  thing. 

Crammon  saw  a  dimly  lit  room,  with  old  chests  of  drawers 
that  were  smoke-stained,  with  a  bed  and  the  girl  Katherine  on 
it  covered  by  the  coarse,  red-checked  linen,  with  a  cradle  in 
which  lay  a  whining  baby.  He  saw  clothes  drying  by  the 
oven,  the  boatman  sitting  and  eating  potato  soup,  a  bench  on 
which  a  lad  was  sleeping,  and  many  other  unclean,  ugly  things. 

To  Christian  it  was  like  a  strange  dream  of  falling.  He, 
too,  saw  the  boatman  and  the  poor  woman  and  the  girl,  whose 
glassy  eyes  and  convulsed  features  brought  home  to  him  at 
once  the  reason  for  his  visit.  But  he  saw  these  things  as  one 
sees  pictures  while  gliding  down  a  shaft,  pictures  that  recur 
at  intervals,  but  are  displaced  by  others  that  slip  in  between 
them. 

Thus  he  saw  Eva  Sorel  feeding  a  walnut  to  one  of  her  little 
monkeys. 

The  boatman  got  up  and  took  off  his  cap.  And  suddenly 
Christian  saw  Denis  Lay  and  Lord  Westmoreland  giving  each 
other  their  white-gloved  hands.  It  was  an  insignificant  thing; 
but  his  vision  of  it  was  glaring  and  incisive. 

Now  the  lad  on  the  bench  awakened,  stretched  himself,  sat 
up  with  a  start,  and  gave  a  sombre  stare  of  astonishment  at 
the  strangers.  The  girl,  ill  from  her  horrible  experience,  turned 
her  head  away,  and  pulled  the  coverlet  up  to  her  chin.  And 
suddenly  Christian  saw  the  charming  vision  of  Letitia,  play- 
ing at  ball  in  the  great  room  crossed  by  the  gleams  of  light- 
ning; and  each  thing  that  he  saw  had  a  relation  to  some  other 
thing  in  that  other  world. 


96  THE    WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

The  curiosity  that  had  brought  him  hither  still  kept  that 
unwonted  smile  on  his  face.  But  he  looked  helplessly  at 
Crammon  now,  and  he  was  sensitive  to  the  indecency  of  his 
silent,  stupid  presence  there,  the  purposelessness  and  folly  of 
the  whole  nocturnal  excursion.  It  seemed  almost  intolerable  to 
him  now  to  stay  longer  in  this  low-ceiled  room,  amid  the  odour 
of  ill-washed  bodies,  and  clothing  that  had  been  worn  for  years. 

Up  to  the  last  moment  he  had  imagined  that  he  would  talk 
to  the  girl.  But  it  was  precisely  this  that  he  found  it  impos- 
sible to  do.  He  did  not  even  dare  to  turn  his  head  to  where 
she  lay.  Yet  he  was  acutely  conscious  of  her  as  he  had  seen 
her  out  there,  reeling  from  the  tables  with  loose  hair  and  torn 
bodice. 

When  he  thought  over  the  words  that  he  might  say  to  her, 
each  seemed  strikingly  superfluous  and  vulgar. 

The  boatman  looked  at  him,  the  woman  looked  at  him. 
The  lad  stared  with  malevolently  squinting  eyes,  as  though  he 
planned  a  personal  attack.  And  now  there  emerged  also  an 
old  man  from  behind  a  partition  where  potatoes  were  stored, 
and  regarded  him  with  dim  glances.  In  the  embarrassment 
caused  him  by  all  these  eyes,  he  advanced  a  few  steps  toward 
Katherine's  bed.  She  had  turned  her  face  to  the  wall,  and 
did  not  move.  In  his  sudden  angry  despair  he  put  his  hands 
into  pocket  after  pocket,  found  nothing,  hardly  knew  indeed 
what  he  sought,  felt  the  diamond  ring  on  his  finger  which  was 
a  gift  of  his  mother,  hastily  drew  it  off,  and  threw  it  on  the 
bed,  into  the  very  hands  of  the  girl.  It  was  the  act  of  one  who 
desired  to  buy  absolution. 

Katherine  moved  her  head,  saw  the  magnificent  ring,  and 
contempt  and  astonishment,  delight  and  fear,  struggled  in  her 
face.  She  looked  up,  and  then  down  again,  and  grew  pale. 
Her  face  was  not  beautiful,  and  it  was  disfigured  by  the  emo- 
tions she  had  experienced  during  the  past  hours.  An  impulse 
that  was  utterly  mysterious  to  himself  caused  Christian  sud- 
denly to  laugh  cheerfully  and  heartily.  At  the  same  time  he 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY   POST  97 

turned  with  a  commanding  gesture  to  Crammon,  demanding 
that  they  go. 

Crammon  had  meantime  determined  to  ease  the  painful- 
ness  of  the  situation  in  a  practical  way.  He  addressed  a  few 
words  to  the  boatman,  who  answered  in  the  dialect  of  Cologne. 
Then  he  drew  forth  two  bank  notes  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 
The  boatman  looked  at  the  money;  the  hands  of  the  woman 
were  stretched  out  after  it.  Crammon  walked  to  the  door. 

Five  minutes  after  they  had  entered  the  house,  they  left  it 
again.  And  they  left  it  swiftly,  like  men  fleeing. 

While  the  cab  drove  over  the  rough  stones  of  the  street, 
Crammon  said  peevishly:  "  You  owe  your  paymaster  a  hun- 
dred marks.  I  won't  charge  you  for  anything  except  the 
money.  You  can't,  I  suppose,  give  me  back  my  lost  sleep." 

"  I  shall  give  you  for  it  the  Chinese  apple  of  amber-coloured 
ivory  about  which  you  were  so  enthusiastic  at  Amsterdam," 
Christian  replied. 

"  Do  that,  my  son,"  Crammon  said,  "  and  do  it  quickly,  or 
my  rage  over  this  whole  business  will  make  me  ill." 

When  he  got  up  at  noon  thoroughly  rested,  Crammon  re- 
flected on  the  incident  with  that  philosophic  mildness  of  which, 
under  the  right  circumstances,  he  was  capable.    After  they  had 
had  a  delightful  breakfast,  he  filled  his  short  pipe,  and  dis- 
coursed:    "  Such  extravagances  in  the  style  of  Haroun  al 
Rashid  get  you  nowhere,  my  dear  boy.    You  can't  fathom  those 
sombre  depths.    Why  hunt  in  unknown  lands,  when  the  famil- 
iar ones  still  have  so  many  charms?    Even  your  humble  servant 
who  sits  opposite  you  is  still  a  very  treasure  of  riddles  and 
mysteries.    That  is  what  a  wise  poet  has  strikingly  expressed: 
"What  know  we  of  the  stars,  of  water  or  of  wind? 
What  of  the  dead,  to  whom  the  earth  is  kind? 
Of  father  and  mother,  or  of  child  and  wife? 
Our  hearts  are  hungry,  but  our  eyes  are  blind." 

Christian  smiled  coolly.  Verses,  he  thought  contemptuously, 
verses.  . 


98  THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 


When  they  reached  the  magnificent  structure  in  the  forest 
of  Schwanheim,  they  found  a  great  restlessness  there  and  a 
crowd  of  guests.  Letitia  had  not  yet  arrived;  Felix  Imhof  was 
expected  hourly;  purveyors  and  postmen  came  and  went  unin- 
terruptedly. The  place  hummed  like  a  hive. 

Frau  Wahnschaffe  greeted  Christian  with  restraint  and  dig- 
nity, although  her  joy  gave  her  eyes  a  phosphorescent  gleam. 
Judith  looked  exhausted,  and  paid  little  attention  to  her 
brother.  But  one  evening  she  suddenly  rushed  into  his  arms, 
with  a  strange  wild  cry  that  betrayed  the  impatience  and  the 
hidden  desires  that  had  so  long  preyed  on  the  cold  and 
ambitious  girl. 

Christian  felt  the  cry  like  a  discord,  and  disengaged  him- 
self. 

He  and  Crammon  went  hunting  or  took  trips  to  the  neigh- 
bouring cities.  Nothing  held  Christian  anywhere.  He  wanted 
always  to  go  farther  or  elsewhere.  His  very  eyes  became 
restless.  When  they  walked  through  the  streets,  he  glanced 
surreptitiously  into  the  windows  of  apartments  and  into  the 
halls  of  houses. 

One  night  they  sat  in  a  wine  cellar  at  Mainz,  drinking  a 
vintage  that  was  thirty  years  old  and  had  a  rare  bouquet. 
Crammon,  who  was  a  connoisseur  through  and  through,  kept 
filling  his  glass  with  an  enchanted  air.  "  It's  sublime,"  he 
said,  and  began  eating  his  caviare  sandwich,  "  simply  sublime. 
These  are  the  realities  of  life.  Here  are  my  altars,  my  books 
of  devotion,  my  relics,  the  scenes  of  my  silent  prayers.  The 
immortal  soul  is  at  rest,  and  the  lofty  and  unapproachable 
lies  in  the  dust  behind  me." 

"  Talk  like  a  decent  man,"  said  Christian. 

But  Crammon,  who  felt  the  ecstasy  of  wine,  was  not  to  be 
deflected.  "  I  have  drunk  the  draught  of  earthly  delight.  I 
have  done  it,  O  friend  and  brother,  in  huts  and  palaces,  North 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST  99 

and  South,  on  sea  and  land.  Only  the  final  fulfilment  was 
denied  me.  O  Ariel,  why  did  you  cast  me  forth?  " 

He  sighed,  and  drew  from  his  inner  pocket  a  tiny  album 
in  a  precious  binding.  He  always  had  it  with  him,  for  it 
contained  twelve  exquisite  photographs  of  the  dancer,  Eva 
Sorel.  "  She  is  like  a  boy,"  he  said,  wholly  absorbed  in  the 
pictures,  "  a  slender,  swift,  unapproachable  boy.  She  stands 
on  the  mystic  boundary  line  of  the  sexes ;  she  is  that  equivocal 
and  twofold  thing  that  maddens  men  if  they  but  think  of  flesh 
and  blood.  Elusive  she  is  as  a  lizard,  and  chill  in  love  as  an 
Amazon.  Do  you  not  feel  a  touch  of  horror,  Christian?  Does 
not  a  cold  ichor  trickle  through  your  veins,  when  you  imagine 
her  in  your  arms,  breast  to  breast?  I  feel  that  horror!  For 
there  would  be  something  of  the  perverse  in  it — something 
of  an  unnatural  violation.  He  who  has  touched  her  lips  is  lost. 
We  saw  that  for  ourselves." 

Christian  suddenly  felt  a  yearning  to  be  alone  in  a  forest, 
in  a  dark  and  silent  forest.  He  did  feel  a  sense  of  horror,  but 
in  a  way  utterly  alien  to  Crammon's  thought.  He  looked 
at  the  older  man,  and  it  was  hard  for  him  to  comprehend 
that  there,  opposite  him,  sat  his  familiar  friend,  whose  face 
and  form  he  had  seen  a  thousand  times  unreflectively. 

Crammon,  contemplating  the  photograph  on  which  Eva 
appeared  dancing  with  a  basket  of  grapes,  began  again: 
"  Sweetest  Ariel,  they  are  all  harlots,  all,  all,  all,  whether 
shameless  and  wild  or  fearful  and  secretive:  you  alone  are 
pure — a  vestal,  a  half-ghost,  a  weaver  of  silk,  like  the  spider, 
who  conquers  the  air  upon  her  half-spun  web.  Let  us  drink, 
O'  friend!  We  are  made  of  dirt,  and  must  be  medicined  by 
fire!  " 

He  drained  his  glass,  rested  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and 
sank  into  melancholy  contemplation. 

Suddenly  Christian  said:  "  Bernard,  I  believe  that  we  must 
part." 

Crammon  stared  at  him,  as  though  he  had  not  heard  right. 


ioo          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  I  believe  that  we  must  part,"  Christian  repeated  softly 
and  with  an  indistinct  smile.  "  I  fear  that  we  are  no  longer 
suited  to  each  other.  You  must  go  your  ways,  and  I  shall  go 
mine." 

Crammon's  face  became  dark  red  with  astonishment  and 
rage.  He  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table  and  gritted  his 
teeth.  "  What  do  you  mean?  Do  you  think  you  can  send  me 
packing  as  though  I  were  a  servant?  Me?  "  He  arose,  took 
his  hat  and  coat,  and  went. 

Christian  sat  there  for  long  with  his  thoughts.  The  indis- 
tinct smile  remained  on  his  lips. 

When  Christian,  on  awakening  next  day,  rang  for  his  valet, 
Crammon  entered  the  room  in  the  man's  stead  and  made  a 
deep  bow.  Over  his  left  arm  he  had  Christian's  garments, 
in  his  right  hand  his  boots.  He  said  good-morning  quite  in 
the  valet's  tone,  laid  the  clothes  on  a  chair,  set  the  boots  on  the 
floor,  asked  whether  the  bath  was  to  be  prepared  at  once, 
and  what  Herr  Wahnschaffe  desired  for  breakfast.  And  he 
did  all  this  with  complete  seriousness,  with  an  almost  melan- 
choly seriousness,  and  with  a  certain  charm  within  the  role 
he  was  assuming  that  could  not  fail  to  be  pleasing. 

.Christian  was  forced  to  laugh.  He  held  out  his  hand  to 
Crammon.  But  the  latter,  refusing  to  abandon  his  acting, 
drew  back,  and  bowed  in  embarrassment.  He  pulled  the  cur- 
tains aside,  opened  the  windows,  spread  the  fresh  shirt,  the 
socks,  the  cravat,  and  went,  only  to  return  a  little  later  with 
the  breakfast  tray.  After  he  had  set  the  table  and  put  the 
plates  and  cups  in  order,  he  stood  with  heels  touching  and 
head  gently  inclined  forward.  Finally,  when  Christian  laughed 
again,  the  expression  of  his  features  altered,  and  he  asked  half- 
mockingly,  half-defiantly:  "Are  you  still  prepared  to  assert 
that  you  can  get  along  without  me?  " 

"  It's  impossible  to  close  accounts  with  you,  dear  Bernard," 
Christian  answered. 

"  It  is  not  one  of  my  habits  to  leave  the  table  when  only 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST  101 

the  soup  has  been  served,"  Crammon  said.  "  When  my  time 
comes  I  trundle  myself  off  without  urging.  But  I  don't  permit 
myself  to  be  sent  away." 

"  Stay,  Bernard,"  Christian  answered.  He  was  shamed  by 
his  friend.  "  Only  stay!  "  And  their  hands  clasped. 

But  it  almost  seemed  to  Christian  that  his  friend  had  really 
in  a  sense  become  a  servant,  that  he  was  one  now,  at  all  events, 
toward  whom  one  no  longer  had  the  duty  of  intimate  openness, 
with  whom  no  inner  bond  united  one — a  companion  merely. 

From  that  time  on,  jests  and  superficial  persiflage  were 
dominant  in  their  conversations,  and  Crammon  either  did  not 
see  or  failed  very  intentionally  to  observe  that  his  relations 
with  Christian  had  undergone  a  fundamental  change. 

VI 

The  arrival  of  the  Argentinian  caused  a  commotion  among 
the  guests  of  the  house  of  Wahnschaffe.  He  had  exotic  habits. 
He  pressed  the  hands  of  the  ladies  to  whom  he  was  presented 
with  such  vigour  that  they  suppressed  a  cry  of  pain.  When- 
ever he  came  down  the  stairs  he  stopped  a  few  steps  from 
the  bottom,  swung  himself  over  the  balustrade  like  an  acrobat, 
and  went  on  as  though  this  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world.  He  had  presented  the  countess  with  a  Pekingese  dog, 
and  whenever  he  met  the  animal  he  tweaked  its  ear  so  that  it 
howled  horribly.  And  he  did  not  do  that  merrily  or  with  a 
smile,  but  in  a  dry,  businesslike  manner. 

Among  the  numerous  trunks  that  he  brought  with  him,  one 
was  arranged  in  the  form  of  a  travelling  pharmacy.  Screwed 
down  tightly  in  neat  compartments  there  were  all  possible 
mixtures,  powders,  and  medicaments;  there  were  little  boxes, 
tubes,  jars,  and  glasses.  If  any  one  complained  of  indis- 
position, he  at  once  pointed  out  the  appropriate  remedy  in  his 
trunk,  and  recommended  it  urgently. 

Felix  Imhof  had  taken  an  enthusiastic  fancy  to  him.  When- 
ever he  could  get  hold  of  him,  he  took  him  aside,  and  ques- 


102          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

tioned  him  regarding  his  country,  his  plans  and  undertakings, 
his  outer  and  his  inner  life. 

Judith,  who  was  jealous,  resented  this  bitterly.  She  made 
scenes  for  the  benefit  of  Felix,  and  reproached  Letitia  for  her 
failure  to  absorb  Stephen  Gunderam's  attention. 

Letitia  was  astonished,  and  her  eyes  grew  large.  With  inno- 
cent coquetry  she  asked:  "  What  can  I  do  about  it?  " 

Judith's  answer  was  cynical.  "  One  must  study  to  please 
the  men." 

She  hated  the  Argentinian.  Yet  when  she  was  alone  with 
him  she  sought  to  ensnare  him.  Had  it  been  possible  to 
alienate  him  from  Letitia,  she  would  have  done  so  out  of  sheer 
insatiableness. 

Her  eyes  glittered  with  a  constant  and  secret  desire.  She 
went  to  the  theatre  with  Imhof,  Letitia,  and  Stephen  to  see 
Edgar  Lorm  in  "  The  Jewess  of  Toledo."  The  applause  which 
was  so  richly  given  to  the  actor  stirred  the  very  depth  of 
her  soul  and  filled  it  with  more  piercing  desire.  But  whether 
she  desired  the  man  or  the  artist,  his  art  or  his  fame,  she  was 
herself  unable  to  tell. 

She  waited  impatiently  for  Crammon,  of  whose  friendship 
with  Lorm  she  had  heard.  He  was  to  bring  the  actor  to  the 
house  with  him.  She  was  accustomed  to  have  all  men  come 
after  whom  she  cast  her  hook.  They  usually  bit,*  were  served 
up,  and  then  enjoyed  in  proportion  to  their  excellence  of 
flavour.  The  household  consumption  of  people  was  large. 

But  Crammon  and  Christian  did  not  return  until  Lorm's 
visit  to  Frankfort  was  over.  So  Judith  fell  into  an  evil  mood, 
and  tormented  all  about  her  without  reason.  Had  her  wish 
been  fulfilled,  her  flickering  soul,  that  needed  ever  new  nour- 
ishment, might  have  been  calmed.  Now  she  buried  herself 
stubbornly  in  the  thought  of  what  had  passed  by  her. 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY   POST          103 

VII 

Crammon  and  Christian  had  been  spending  a  week  with 
Clementine  and  Franz  Lothar  von  Westernach  in  Styria. 
Clementine  had  summoned  Crammon  for  the  sake  of  her 
brother,  who  had  recently  returned  from  a  stay  in  Hungary 
with  a  deeply  shaken  mind. 

Crammon  and  Franz  Lothar  were  very  old  friends.  The 
latter 's  profession  of  diplomacy  had  made  the  frank  and 
flexible  man  reserved  and  difficult.  He  took  his  profession  seri- 
ously, although  he  did  not  love  it.  A  hypochondriacal  state 
of  the  nerves  had  developed  in  him,  even  in  his  youth. 

Christian's  sympathy  went  out  to  him  in  his  present  state. 
He  felt  tempted  to  question  the  man  who  sat  so  still  and  with 
a  dim  stare  in  his  eyes.  Clementine,  in  her  empty  chattering 
manner,  gave  Crammon  directions  for  his  behaviour,. at  which 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

She  said  that  she  had  written  to  her  cousin,  Baron  Ebergeny, 
on  whose  estate  in  Syrmia  Franz  had  been  a  guest.  But  the 
baron,  who  was  half  a  peasant,  had  been  able  to  give  her  no 
explanation  of  any  real  import.  He  had  merely  pointed  out 
that  he  and  Franz  Lothar,  on  one  of  the  last  days  of  the  lat- 
ter's  presence,  had  witnessed  the  burning  of  a  barn  at  Orasje, 
a  neighbouring  village,  during  which  many  people  had  lost 
their  lives. 

No  information  was  to  be  obtained  from  Franz  Lothar  him- 
self. He  was  steadily  silent.  His  sister  redoubled  her  care, 
but  his  sombre  reticence  only  increased.  Perhaps  Crammon 
was  capable  of  some  tone,  some  glance,  that  pierced  and  melted 
his  petrified  soul.  One  evening,  at  all  events,  the  unexpected 
happened.  Crammon  learnt  that  the  burning  of  the  barn  was 
the  real  cause  of  his  morbid  melancholy. 

According  to  her  custom,  Clementine  had  gone  to  bed  early. 
Christian,  Crammon,  and  Franz  Lothar  sat  silently  together. 
Suddenly — without  any  external  impetus — Franz  covered  his 


104  THE    WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

face  with  his  hands,  and  deep  sobs  came  from  his  breast. 
Crammon  sought  to  soothe  him.  He  stroked  his  hair  and 
grasped  his  hands.  In  vain.  The  sobbing  became  a  convul- 
sion that  shook  the  man's  body  violently. 

Christian  sat  without  moving.  A  bitterness  rose  in  his 
throat,  for  there  came  to  him  with  unexpected  power  a  sense 
of  the  essential  reality  of  the  spiritual  pain  that  was  being 
uttered  here. 

The  convulsion  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun.  Franz 
Lothar  arose,  walked  up  and  down  with  dragging  footsteps, 
and  said:  "  You  shall  hear  how  it  was."  Thereupon  he  sat 
down  and  told  them. 

In  the  village  of  Orasje  a  dance  had  been  planned.  No  hall 
was  available,  and  so  the  large,  well-boarded  barn  of  a  peasant 
was  prepared.  Numerous  lamps  were  hung  up,  and  the  wooden 
walls  adorned  with  flowers  and  foliage.  According  to  a  local 
custom,  the  magnates  on  all  the  neighbouring  estates  and  their 
families  received  invitations  to  attend  the  festivity.  A  mounted 
messenger  delivered  these  solemnly  by  word  of  mouth. 

Franz  Lothar  begged  his  brother  to  take  him  to  the  peasants' 
ball.  He  had  long  heard  stories  in  praise  of  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  these  feasts:  the  snow-white  garments  of  the  men,  the 
strong  and  varied  colours  of  the  women's,  the  national  dances, 
the  primitive  music.  There  was  a  promise  in  all  these,  both 
of  pleasure  and  of  a  knowledge  of  new  folk-ways. 

They  intended  to  drive  over  at  a  late  hour  when  the  danc- 
ing had  already  begun.  Two  young  countesses  and  the  latters' 
brother,  all  members  of  their  circle,  planned  to  join  them.  But 
in  the  end  the  others  went  first,  for  the  young  ladies  did  not 
want  to  miss  any  of  the  dancing.  Franz  Lothar  had  long 
and  cordially  admired  the  Countess  Irene,  who  was  the  older 
of  the  two. 

Several  days  before  the  ball,  however,  a  quarrel  had  broken 
out  between  the  youths  and  maidens  of  Orasje.  On  the  way  to 
chuch,  a  lad,  whom  a  seventeen-year-old  beauty  had  given  too 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST  105 

rude  an  evidence  of  her  dislike,  had  put  a  live  mouse  on  her 
naked  shoulder.  The  girl  ran  crying  to  her  companions,  and 
they  sent  an  envoy  to  the  youths,  demanding  that  the  guilty 
one  apologize. 

The  demand  was  refused.  There  was  laughter  and  teasing. 
But  they  insisted  on  this  punishment,  although  they  were 
repeated  their  demand  in  a  more  drastic  form.  When  it  was 
refused  a  second  time  they  determined  to  invite  to  their  ball 
the  young  men  of  Gradiste,  between  whom  and  those  of  Orasje 
there  was  a  feud  of  many  years'  standing.  They  knew  the 
insult  they  were  inflicting  on  the  youths  of  their  own  village. 
But  they  insisisted  on  this  punishment,  although  they  were 
warned  even  by  their  fathers  and  mothers,  and  by  loud  and 
silent  threats  which  should  have  inspired  them  with  fear. 

The  youths  of  Gradiste  were,  of  course,  loudly  triumphant 
over  their  cheap  victory.  On  the  evening  of  the  dance  they 
appeared  without  exception,  handsomely  dressed,  and  accom- 
panied by  their  own  village  band.  Of  the  youths  of  Orasje 
not  one  was  to  be  seen.  In  the  twilight  they  passed  in  ghostly 
procession  through  the  streets  of  ,the  village,  and  were  then 
seen  no  more. 

The  elders  and  the  married  folk  of  Orasje  sat  at  tables  in 
their  yards  and  gardens,  and  chatted.  But  they  were  not  as 
care- free  as  on  other  festive  evenings,  for  they  felt  the  venge- 
ful mood  of  their  sons,  and  feared  it.  They  drank  their  wine 
and  listened  to  the  music.  In  the  barn  over  three  hundred 
young  people  were  assembled.  The  air  was  sultry,  and  the 
dancers  were  bathed  in  sweat.  Suddenly,  while  they  were 
dancing  a  Czarda,  the  two  great  doors  of  the  barn  were  simul- 
taneously slammed  to  from  without.  Those  who  saw  it  and 
heard  it  ceased  dancing.  And  now  a  powerful  and  disturbing 
noise  broke  in  upon  the  loud  and  jubilant  sound  of  the  instru- 
ments. It  was  the  sound  of  hammers,  and  a  sharp  and  terror- 
shaken  voice  called  out:  "  They  are  nailing  up  the  doors." 

The  music  stopped.     In  a  moment  the  atmosphere  had 


io6          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

become  suffocating.  As  though  turned  to  stone,  they  all  stared 
at  the  doors.  Their  blood  seemed  to  congeal  under  the  terrible 
blows  of  the  hammers.  Loud  and  mingled  voices  came  to  them 
from  without.  The  older  people  there  raised  their  protesting 
voices.  The  voices  grew  loud  and  wild,  and  then  rose  to  des- 
perate shrieks  and  howls.  Then  it  began  to  crackle  and  hiss. 
The  blows  of  the  hammers  had  shaken  down  a  lamp.  The 
petroleum  had  caught  on  fire,  and  the  dry  boarding  of  the 
floor  flared  like  tinder  that  could  no  longer  be  extinguished. 

All  reason  and  all  human  restraints  fled.  In  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  the  three  hundred  became  like  wild  beasts.  With 
the  violence  of  mania  the  youths  hurled  themselves  against 
the  locked  doors;  but  these  had  been  built  of  heavy  oak,  and 
resisted  all  exertions.  The  girls  shrieked  madly;  and  since 
the  smoke  and  the  fumes  did  not  all  float  out  through  the 
cracks  in  the  walls  and  through  the  small,  star-shaped  window- 
holes,  the  girls  drew  up  their  skirts  about  their  heads.  Others 
threw  themselves  moaning  to  the  floor;  and  when  they  were 
trodden  on  by  the  others,  who  surged  so  madly  to  and  fro, 
they  writhed  convulsively,  and  stretched  out  their  arms.  Soon 
the  dry  woodwork  had  become  a  mass  of  flame.  The  heat  was 
intolerable.  Many  tore  off  their  garments,  both  youths  and 
maidens,  and  in  the  terror  and  the  torment  of  death,  united 
in  the  wild  embraces  of  a  sombre  ecstasy,  and  wrung  from  their 
doomed  lives  an  ultimate  sting  of  delight. 

These  embracing  couples  Franz  Lothar  saw  later  with  his 
own  eyes  as  lumps  of  cinders  amid  the  smoking  ruins.  He 
arrived  with  his  cousin,  when  the  whole  horror  had  already 
taken  place.  They  had  seen  the  reflection  of  the  flames  in 
the  sky  from  afar,  and  whipped  up  their  horses.  From  the 
neighbouring  villages  streamed  masses  of  people.  But  they 
came  too  late  to  help.  The  barn  had  been  burned  down  within 
five  minutes,  and  all  within,  except  five  or  six,  had  found  their 
death. 

Among  the  victims  was  also  the  Countess  Irene,  her  sister 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST          107 

and  brother.  Terrible  as  this  was,  it  added  but  little  to  the 
unspeakable  horror  of  the  whole  catastrophe.  The  image  of 
that  place  of  ruins;  the  sight  of  the  smouldering  corpses;  their 
odour  and  the  odour  of  blood  and  burned  hair  and  garments; 
the  pied,  short-haired  village  dogs,  who  crept  with  greedy 
growls  about  this  vast  hearth  of  cooked  flesh;  the  distorted 
faces  of  the  suffocated,  whose  bodies  lay  untouched  amid  the 
other  burned  and  blackened  ones;  the  loud  or  silent  grief  of 
mothers,  fathers,  brothers;  the  Syrmian  night,  fume-filled  to 
the  starry  sky, — these  things  rained  blow  on  blow  upon  the 
spirit  of  Franz  Lothar,  and  caused  a  black  despair  to  creep 
into  the  inmost  convolutions  of  his  brain. 

It  eased  him  that  he  had  at  last  found  the  release  of  speech. 
He  sat  by  the  window,  and  looked  out  into  the  dark. 

Crammon,  a  sinister  cloud  upon  his  lined  forehead,  said: 
"  Only  with  a  whip  can  the  mob  be  held  in  leash.  What  I  regret 
is  the  abolition  of  torture.  The  devil  take  all  humanitarian 
twaddle!  "  Then  he  went  out  and  put  his  arms  about  Lothar 
and  kissed  him. 

But  Christian  felt  a  sense  of  icy  chill  and  rigidness  steal  over 
him. 

Their  departure  was  set  for  the  next  morning.  Crammon 
entered  the  room  of  Christian,  who  was  so  lost  in  thoughts 
that  he  did  not  reply  to  the  greeting  of  his  friend.  "  Look  here, 
what's  wrong  with  you?  "  Crammon  exclaimed,  as  he  examined 
him.  "  Have  you  looked  in  the  glass?  " 

Christian  had  dispensed  with  his  valet  on  this  trip,  or  the 
slight  accident  could  not  have  happened.  The  colours  of  his 
suit  and  his  cravat  presented  an  obvious  discord. 

"  I'm  rather  absent-minded  to-day,"  Christian  said,  half- 
smiling.  He  took  off  the  cravat,  and  replaced  it  by  another. 
It  took  him  three  times  as  long  as  usual.  Crammon  walked 
impatiently  up  and  down. 


io8          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

vm 

Confusion  seized  upon  Christian  whenever  he  sought  to  think 
about  the  condition  in  which  he  found  himself. 

In  his  breast  there  was  an  emptiness  which  nothing  could 
fill  from  without,  and  about  him  was  a  rigid  armour  that 
hindered  all  freedom  of  movement.  He  yearned  to  fill  the 
emptiness  and  to  burst  the  armour. 

His  mother  became  anxious,  and  said:  "You  look  peaked, 
Christian.  Is  anything  wrong  with  you?  "  He  assured  her 
that  there  was  nothing.  But  she  knew  better,  and  inquired 
of  Crammon:  "  What  ails  Christian?  He  is  so  still  and  pale." 

Crammon  answered:  "  Dear  lady,  that  is  his  style  of  per- 
sonality. Experiences  carve  his  face.  Has  it  not  grown  nobler 
and  prouder?  You  need  fear  nothing.  He  follows  his  road 
firmly  and  unwaveringly.  And  so  long  as  I  am  with  him, 
nothing  evil  can  happen  to  him." 

Frau  Wahnschaffe  was  moved  in  her  faint  way,  though 
still  in  doubt,  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

Crammon  said  to  Christian:  "The  countess  has  made  a 
great  catch — a  person  from  overseas.  Quite  fitting." 

"  Do  you  like  the  man?  "  Christian  asked,  uncertainly. 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  think  evil  of  him,"  Crammon 
replied,  hypocritically.  "  He  is  from  so  far  away,  and  will 
go  so  far  away  again,  that  I  cannot  but  find  him  congenial. 
If  he  takes  that  child  Letitia  with  him,  he  shall  be  accom- 
panied by  my  blessings.  Whether  it  will  mean  her  happiness, 
that  is  a  matter  I  refuse  to  be  anxious  about.  Such  remote  dis- 
tances have,  at  all  events,  something  calming.  The  Argentine, 
the  Rio  de  la  Plata!  Dear  me,  it  might  just  as  well  be  the 
moon!  " 

Christian  laughed.  Yet  the  figure  of  Crammon,  as  it  stood 
there  before  him,  seemed  to  dissolve  into  a  mist,  and  he 
suppressed  what  he  still  had  to  say. 

Twenty-three  of  the  guest  rooms  were  occupied.     People 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST          109 

arrived  and  left.  Scarcely  did  one  begin  to  recognize  a  face, 
when  it  disappeared  again.  Men  and  women,  who  had  met 
but  yesterday,  associated  quite  intimately  to-day,  and  said 
an  eternal  farewell  to-morrow.  A  certain  Herr  von  Wedder- 
kampf,  a  business  associate  of  the  elder  Wahnschaffe,  had 
brought  his  four  daughters.  Friiulein  von  Einsiedel  arranged 
to  settle  down  for  the  winter,  for  her  parents  were  in  process  of 
being  divorced.  Wolfgang,  who  was  spending  his  vacation 
at  home,  had  brought  with  him  three  student  friends.  All 
these  people  were  in  a  slightly  exalted  mood,  made  elaborate 
plans  for  their  amusement,  wrote  letters  and  received  them, 
dined,  flirted,  played  music,  were  excited  and  curious,  witty 
and  avid  for  pleasure,  continued  to  carry  on  their  worldly 
affairs  from  here,  and  assumed  an  appearance  of  friendliness, 
innocence,  and  freedom  from  care. 

Liveried  servants  ran  up  and  down  the  stairs,  electric  bells 
trilled,  motor  car  horns  tooted,  tables  were  laid,  lamps  shone, 
jewels  glittered.  Behind  one  door  they  flirted,  behind  another 
they  brewed  a  scandal.  In  the  hall  with  the  fair  marble 
columns  sat  smiling  couples.  It  was  a  world  thoroughly  dif- 
ferentiated from  those  quite  accidental  modern  groupings  at 
places  where  one  pays.  It  was  full  of  a  common  will  to  oblige, 
of  secret  understandings,  and  of  social  charm. 

Letitia  had  gone  with  her  aunt  to  spend  a  week  in  Munich. 
She  did  not  return  until  the  third  day  after  Christian's  arrival. 
Christian  was  glad  to  see  her.  Yet  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  enter  into  conversation  with  her. 

rx 

One  morning  he  sat  at  breakfast  with  his  father.  He  mar- 
velled how  strange  to  him  was  this  gentleman  with  the  white, 
parted  hair,  with  the  elegantly  clipped  and  divided  beard  and 
the  rosy  complexion. 

Herr  Wahnschaffe  treated  him  with  very  great  courtesy. 
He  inquired  after  the  social  relations  that  Christian  had 


no          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

formed  in  England,  and  commented  upon  his  son's  frugal 
answers  with  instructive  remarks  concerning  men  and  things. 
"  It  is  well  for  Germans  to  gain  ground  there — useful  and 
necessary." 

He  discussed  the  threatening  clouds  in  the  political  sky,  and 
expressed  his  disapproval  of  Germany's  attitude  during  the 
Moroccan  crisis.  But  Christian  remained  silent,  through  want 
of  interest  and  through  ignorance,  and  his  father  became  visibly 
cooler,  took  up  his  paper,  and  began  to  read. 

What  a  stranger  he  is  to  me,  Christian  thought,  and  searched 
for  a  pretext  that  would  let  him  rise  and  leave.  At  that 
moment  Wolfgang  came  to  the  table,  and  talked  about  the 
results  of  the  races  at  Baden-Baden.  His  voice  annoyed 
Christian,  and  he  escaped. 

It  happened  that  Judith  was  sitting  in  the  library  and 
teased  him  about  Letitia.  Then  Letitia  herself  and  Crammon 
entered  chatting.  Felix  Imhof  soon  joined  them.  Letitia  took 
a  book,  and  carefully  avoided,  as  was  clear,  looking  in  Chris- 
tian's direction.  Then  those  three  left  the  room  again,  and 
Judith  listened  with  pallor  to  their  retreating  voices,  for  she 
had  heard  Felix  pay  Letitia  a  compliment.  "  Perhaps  she  is 
committing  a  great  folly,"  she  said.  Then  she  turned  to  her 
brother.  "  Why  are  you  so  silent?  "  She  wrinkled  her  fore- 
head, and  rested  her  folded  hands  on  his  shoulder.  "  We  are  all 
merry  and  light  hearted  here,  and  you  are  so  changed.  Don't 
you  like  to  be  among  us?  Isn't  it  lovely  here  at  home?  And 
if  you  don't  like  it,  can't  you  go  at  any  time?  Why  are  you 
so  moody?  " 

"  I  hardly  know;  I  am  not  moody,"  Christian  replied.  "  One 
cannot  always  be  laughing." 

"  You'll  stay  until  my  wedding,  won't  you?  "  Judith  con- 
tinued, and  raised  her  brows.  "  I'll  never  forgive  you  if  you 
don't."  Christian  nodded,  and  then  she  said  with  a  friendly 
urgency,  "Why  don't  you  ever  talk  to  me,  you  bear?  Ask 
me  something!  " 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST  in 

Christian  smiled.  "  Very  well,  I'll  ask  you  something,"  he 
said.  "  Are  you  contented,  Judith?  Is  your  heart  at  peace?  " 

Judith  laughed.  "  That's  asking  too  much  at  once!  You 
used  not  to  be  so  forthright."  Then  she  leaned  forward,  with 
her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and  spread  out  her  hands.  "  We 
Wahnschaffes  can  never  be  contented.  All  that  we  have  is 
too  little,  for  there  is  always  so  much  that  one  has  not. 
I'm  afraid  I  shall  be  like  the  fisherman's  wife  in  the  fairy  tale. 
Or,  rather,  I'm  not  afraid  but  glad  at  the  thought  that  I'll 
send  my  fisherman  back  to  the  fish  in  the  sea  again  and  again. 
Then  I  shall  know,  at  least,  what  he  is  willing  to  risk." 

Christian  regarded  his  beautiful  sister,  and  heard  the 
temerity  of  her  words.  There  was  an  audacity  about  her 
gestures,  her  words,  her  bright,  clear  voice,  and  the  glow  of 
her  eyes.  He  remembered  how  he  had  sat  one  evening  with 
Eva  Sorel;  and  she  had  been  as  near  him  as  Judith  was  now. 
In  silent  ecstasy  he  had  looked  at  Eva's  hands,  and  she  had 
raised  her  left  hand  and  held  it  against  the  lamp,  and  though 
the  radiance  outlined  only  the  more  definitely  the  noble  form 
of  the  rosy  translucence  of  her  flesh,  the  dark  shadow  of  the 
bony  structure  had  been  plainly  visible.  And  Eva  had  said: 
"  Ah,  Eidolon,  the  kernel  knows  nothing  of  beauty." 

Christian  arose  and  asked  almost  sadly:  "You  will  know 
what  he  risks.  But  will  that  teach  you  to  know  what  you 
gain?  " 

Judith  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise,  and  her  face  darkened. 

x 

One  day  he  entered  the  sitting-room  of  his  mother,  but  she 
was  not  there.  He  approached  the  door  that  led  to  her  bed- 
room, and  knocked.  When  he  received  no  answer,  he  opened 
it.  She  was  not  in  this  room  either.  Looking  about,  he  became 
aware  of  a  brown  silk  dress  trimmed  with  lace  that  belonged  to 
his  mother  and  that  had  been  put  on  a  form.  And  for  a  second 
he  seemed  to  see  her  before  him,  but  without  a  head.  He 


ii2          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

fell  to  thinking,  and  the  same  thought  came  to  him  that  he  had 
had  in  his  father's  presence:  What  a  stranger  she  is  to  me! 
And  the  dress,  that  hid  only  the  wicker  form,  became  an  image 
of  his  mother,  more  recognizable  to  him  than  her  living  body. 

For  there  was  about  her  something  impenetrable  and  in- 
explicable— the  rigid  attitude,  the  hopeless  mien,  the  dull  eye, 
the  rough  voice  that  had  no  resonance,  her  whole  joyless  char- 
acter. She,  in  whose  house  all  made  merry,  and  whose  whole 
activity  and  being  seemed  dedicated  to  give  others  the  oppor- 
tunity of  delight,  was  herself  utterly  barren  of  joy. 

But  she  had  the  most  magnificent  pearls  in  Europe.  And 
all  men  knew  this  and  esteemed  her  for  it  and  boasted  of  it. 

Christian's  self-deception  went  so  far,  that  he  was  about  to 
talk  to  that  hollow  form  more  intimately  than  he  would  have 
done  to  his  living  mother.  A  question  leaped  to  his  lips,  a 
tender  and  cheerful  word.  Then  he  heard  her  footsteps,  and 
was  startled.  He  turned  around,  and  seemed  to  see  her  double. 

She  was  not  surprised  at  meeting  him  here.  She  was  rarely 
surprised  at  anything.  She  sat  down  on  a  chair  and  her  eyes 
were  empty. 

She  discussed  Imhof,  who  had  introduced  a  Jewish  friend 
of  his  to  the  house.  She  deprecated  association  with  Jews  as 
a  practice.  She  added  that  Wahnschaffe — she  always  called 
her  husband  so — agreed  with  her. 

She  expressed  her  disapproval  of  Judith's  engagement. 
"  Wahnschaffe  is  really  opposed  to  this  marriage  too,"  she 
said,  "  but  it  was  difficult  to  find  a  pretext  to  refuse.  If 
Judith  sets  her  heart  on  anything!  Well,  you  know  her!  I 
am  afraid  her  chief  ambition  was  to  get  ahead  of  her  friend 
Letitia." 

Christian  looked  up  in  amazement.  His  mother  did  not  ob- 
serve it,  and  continued:  "  With  all  his  good  qualities  Imhof 
does  not  seem  reliable.  He  is  a  plunger,  and  restless  and 
changeable  as  a  weather  vane.  Of  the  ten  millions  which 
his  foster  father  left  him,  five  or  six  are  already  lost  through 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST  113 

speculation  and  extravagance.     What  is  your  judgment  of 
him?  " 

"  I  haven't  really  thought  about  it,"  Christian  answered. 
This  conversation  was  beginning  to  weary  him. 

"  Then,  too,  his  origin  is  obscure.  He  was  a  foundling.  Old 
Martin  Imhof,  whom  Wahnschaffe  knew,  by  the  way,  and  who 
belonged  to  one  of  the  first  patrician  families  of  Diisseldorf, 
is  said  to  have  adopted  him  under  peculiar  circumstances. 
He  was  an  old  bachelor,  and  had  a  reputation  for  misanthropy. 
At  last  he  was  quite  alone  in  the  world,  and  absolutely  adored 
this  strange  child.  Hadn't  you  heard  about  that?  " 

"  Some  rumour,  yes,"  Christian  said. 

"  Well,  now  tell  me  something  about  yourself,  my  son," 
Frau  Wahnschaffe  asked,  with  a  changed  expression  and  with 
a  smile  of  suffering. 

But  Christian  had  no  answer.  His  world  and  his  mother's 
world — he  saw  no  bridge  between  the  two.  And  as  the  knowl- 
edge came  to  him,  another  matter  also  became  clear.  And 
it  was  this,  that  there  was  likewise  no  bridge  between  the 
world  of  his  conscious  life  and  another  that  lay  far  behind 
it,  misty  and  menacing,  luring  and  terrible  at  once,  which  he 
did  not  understand,  nor  know,  of  which  he  had  not  even  a 
definite  presage,  but  which  had  come  to  him  only  as  a  vision 
through  flashes  of  lightning,  or  as  a  dream  or  in  a  swift  touch 
of  horror. 

He  kissed  his  mother's  hand,  and  hastened  out. 

i 

XI 

In  spite  of  a  gently  persistent  rain,  he  walked  with  Letitia 
through  the  twilit  park.  Many  times  they  wandered  up  and 
down  the  path  from  the  hot-houses  to  the  pavillion,  and  heard 
the  sound  of  a  piano  from  the  house.  Fraulein  von  Einsiedel 
was  playing. 

At  first  their  conversation  was  marked  by  long  pauses, 
Something  in  Letitia  was  beseeching:  Take  me,  take  me! 


ii4          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Christian  understood.  He  wore  his  arrogant  smile,  but  he  did 
not  dare  to  look  at  her.  "  I  love  music  heard  from  afar," 
Letitia  said.  "  Don't  you,  Christian?  " 

He  drew  his  raincoat  tighter  about  him,  and  replied:  "  I 
care  little  about  music." 

"  Then  you  have  a  bad  heart,  or  at  least  a  hard  one." 

"  It  may  be  that  I  have  a  bad  heart ;  it  is  certainly  hard." 

Letitia  flushed,  and  asked:  "What  do  you  love?  I  mean 
what  things.  What?  "  The  archness  of  her  expression  did 
not  entirely  conceal  the  seriousness  of  her  question. 

"  What  things  I  love?  "  he  repeated  lingeringly,  "  I  don't 
know.  Does  one  have  to  love  things?  One  uses  them.  That 
is  all." 

"  Oh,  no!  "  Letitia  cried,  and  her  deep  voice  brought  a 
peculiar  warmth  to  Christian.  "  Oh,  no!  Things  exist  to  be 
loved.  Flowers,  for  instance,  and  stars.  One  loves  them.  If 
I  hear  a  beautiful  song  or  see  a  beautiful  picture,  at  once  some- 
thing cries  within  me:  That  is  mine,  mine!  " 

"  And  do  you  feel  that  too  when  a  bird  suddenly  drops  down 
and  dies,  as  you  have  seen  it  happen?  Or  when  a  wounded 
deer  dies  before  you  when  you  are  hunting?  "  Christian  asked, 
hesitatingly. 

Letitia  was  silent,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  touch  of  fear. 
The  glance  of  her  eyes  was  inexpressibly  grateful  to  him.  Take 
me,  take  me,  that  silent  voice  pleaded  with  him  again.  "  But 
those  are  not  things,"  she  said  softly,  "  they  are  living 
beings." 

His  voice  was  gentler  than  hitherto  when  he  spoke  again: 
"  All  things  that  are  fragrant  and  glowing,  that  serve  adorn- 
ment and  delight  are  yours  indeed,  Letitia.  But  what  are 
mine?  "  He  stood  still,  and  asked  again  with  a  look  of  inner 
distress  which  shook  Letitia's  soul.  Never  had  she  expected 
such  words  or  such  a  tone  of  him. 

Her  glance  reminded  him:  you  kissed  me  once!  Think  of 
it — you  kissed  me  once! 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY   POST  115 

"  When  is  your  wedding  going  to  be?  "  he  asked,  and  his 
lids  twitched  a  little. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly.  We're  not  even  formally  engaged 
at  present,"  Letitia  answered,  laughing.  "  He  has  declared 
that  I  must  be  his  wife  and  won't  be  contradicted.  Christmas 
my  mother  is  coming  to  Heidelberg,  and  then,  I  suppose,  the 
wedding  will  take  place.  What  I  do  look  forward  to  is  the 
voyage  overseas  and  the  strange  country."  And  in  her  radiant 
eyes  flamed  up  the  impassioned  plea:  Oh,  take  me,  take  me! 
My  yearning  is  so  great!  But  with  a  coquettish  turn  of  the 
head,  she  asked:  "  How  do  you  like  Stephen?  " 

He  did  not  answer  her  question,  but  said  softly:  "  Some  one 
is  watching  us  from  the  house." 

Letitia  whispered:  "  He  is  jealous  of  the  very  earth  and 
air."  It  began  to  rain  harder,  and  so  they  turned  their  steps 
toward  the  house.  And  Christian  felt  that  he  loved  her. 

An  hour  later  he  entered  the  smoking  room.  Imhof,  Cram- 
mon,  Wolfgang,  and  Stephen  Gunderam  sat  about  a  round  table, 
and  played  poker.  The  demeanour  of  each  accorded  with  his 
character:  Imhof  was  superior  and  talkative,  Crammon  absent- 
minded  and  sombre,  Wolfgang  distrustful  and  excited.  Stephen 
Gunderam's  face  was  stonily  impassive.  He  was  as  utterly 
dedicated  to  his  occupation  as  a  somnambulist.  He  has  been 
winning  uninterruptedly,  and  a  little  mountain  of  bank  notes 
and  gold  was  rising  in  front  of  him.  Crammon  and  Imhof 
moved  aside  to  make  room  for  Christian.  At  that  moment 
Stephen  jumped  up.  Holding  his  cards  in  his  hand,  he  stared 
at  Christian  with  eyes  full  of  hatred. 

Christian  regarded  him  with  amazement.  But  when  the 
other  three,  rather  surprised,  also  moved  to  get  up,  Stephen 
Gunderam  sank  back  into  his  chair,  and  said  with  sombre 
harshness:  "  Let  us  play  on.  May  I  ask  for  four  cards?  " 

Christian  left  the  neighbourhood  of  the  table.  He  felt  that 
he  loved  Letitia.  His  whole  heart  loved  her,  tenderly  and  with 
longing. 


u6          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

XII 

A  discharged  workman  had  lain  in  wait  one  evening  for  the 
automobile  of  Herr  Albrecht  Wahnschaffe.  When  the  car 
slowed  up  and  approached  the  gate  of  the  park,  the  assassin, 
hidden  by  the  bushes,  had  stealthily  shot  at  his  former  em- 
ployer. 

The  bullet  only  grazed  its  victim's  arms.  The  wound  was 
slight,  but  Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  had  to  remain  in  bed  for 
several  days.  After  his  deed  the  criminal  had  escaped  under 
cover  of  darkness.  It  was  not  until  next  morning  that  the 
police  succeeded  in  catching  him. 

This  happening,  inconsiderable  as  were  its  consequences,  had 
disturbed  for  a  little  the  merry  life  in  the  house  of  Wahnschaffe. 
Several  persons  left.  Among  these  was  Herr  von  Wedder- 
kampf,  who  told  his  daughters  that  the  ground  here  was  getting 
too  hot  for  his  feet. 

But  on  the  third  evening  every  one  was  dancing  again. 

It  surprised  Christian.  He  did  not  understand  such  swift 
forgetfulness.  He  was  surprised  at  the  equanimity  of  his 
mother,  the  care-free  mood  of  his  sister  and  brother. 

He  wished  to  learn  the  name  of  that  workingman,  but  no 
one  knew.  He  was  told  that  the  man's  name  was  Miiller. 
Also  that  it  was  Schmidt.  He  was  surprised.  Nor  did  any 
one  seem  to  know  exactly  what  motive  impelled  the  man  to 
his  deed.  One  said  that  it  had  been  mere  vengefulness,  the 
result  of  the  flame  of  class  hatred  systematically  fanned. 
Another  said  that  only  a  lunatic  could  be  capable  of  such 
a  deed. 

Whatever  it  was,  this  shot  fired  from  ambush  by  an  unknown 
man  for  an  unknown  cause  was  not  quite  the  same  to  Christian 
as  it  was  to  all  the  others  who  lived  about  him  and  sought 
their  pleasure  in  their  various  ways.  It  forced  him  to  medita- 
tion. His  meditation  was  aimless  and  fruitless  enough.  But 
it  was  serious,  and  caused  him  strange  suffering. 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY   POST  117 

He  would  have  liked  to  see  the  man.  He  would  have  liked 
to  look  into  his  face. 

Crammon  said:  "  Another  case  that  makes  it  clear  as  day 
that  the  discarding  of  torture  has  simply  made  the  canaille 
more  insolent.  What  admirable  inventions  for  furthering  disci- 
pline and  humanity  were  the  stocks  and  the  pillory!  " 

Christian  visited  his  father,  who  sat  in  an  armchair  with 
his  arm  in  a  sling.  A  highly  conservative  newspaper  was  spread 
out  before  him.  Herr  Wahnschaffe  said:  "I  trust  that  you 
and  your  friends  are  not  practising  any  undue  restraint.  I 
could  not  endure  the  thought  of  darkening  the  mood  of  my 
guests  by  so  much  as  a  breath." 

Christian  was  astonished  at  this  courtesy,  this  distinction 
and  temperance,  this  amiable  considerateness. 

xni 

Deep  in  the  woods,  amid  ruins,  Stephen  Gunderam  demanded 
of  Letitia  that  she  decide  his  fate. 

A  picnic  in  very  grand  style  had  been  arranged;  Letitia 
and  Stephen  had  remained  behind  here;  and  thus  it  had  hap- 
pened. 

Around  them  arose  the  ancient  tree-trunks  and  the  im- 
memorial walls.  Above  the  tree-tops  extended  the  pallid  blue 
of  the  autumnal  sky.  His  knees  upon  the  dry  foliage,  a  man, 
using  sublime  and  unmeasured  words,  asserted  his  eternal  love. 
Letitia  could  not  withstand  the  scene  and  him. 

Stephen  Gunderam  said:  "  If  you  refuse  me  nothing  is  left 
me  but  to  put  a  bullet  through  my  head.  I  have  had  it  in 
readiness  for  long.  I  swear  to  you  by  the  life  of  my  father 
that  I  speak  truly." 

Could  a  girl  as  gentle  and  as  easily  persuaded  as  Letitia 
assume  the  responsibility  for  such  blood-guiltiness?  And  she 
gave  her  consent.  She  did  not  think  of  any  fetter,  nor  of  the 
finality  of  such  a  decision,  nor  of  time  nor  of  its  consequences, 
nor  of  him  to  whom  her  soul  was  to  belong.  She  thought  only 


ii8          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

of  this  moment,  and  that  there  was  one  here  who  had  spoken  to 
her  these  sublime  and  unmeasured  words. 

Stephen  Gunderam  leaped  up,  folded  her  in  his  arms  and 
cried:  "  From  now  on  you  belong  to  me  through  all  eternity 
— every  breath,  every  thought,  every  dream  of  yours  is  mine 
and  mine  only!  Never  forget  that — never!  " 

"  Let  me  go,  you  terrible  man!  "  Letitia  said,  but  with  a 
shiver  of  delight.  She  felt  herself  carried  voluptuously  upon 
a  wave  of  romance.  Her  nerves  began  to  vibrate,  her  glance 
shimmered  and  broke.  For  the  first  time  she  felt  the  stir  of 
the  flesh.  With  a  soft  cry  she  glided  from  his  grasp. 

Even  on  the  way  home  they  received  congratulations.  Cram- 
mon  slunk  quietly  away.  When  Christian  came  and  gave 
Letitia  his  hand,  there  was  in  her  eyes  a  restless  expectation, 
a  fantastic  joy  that  he  could  not  understand  at  all.  He  could 
not  fathom  what  she  hid  behind  this  expression.  He  could  not 
guess  that  even  at  this  moment  she  was  faithlessly  withdrawing 
herself  from  him  to  whom  she  had  just  entrusted  her  life,  its 
every  breath  and  thought  and  dream,  and  that  in  her  innocent 
but  foolish  way  she  desired  to  convey  to  Christian  a  sense  of 
this  fact. 

He  loved  her.  From  hour  to  hour  his  love  grew.  He  felt  it 
to  be  almost  an  inner  law  that  he  must  love  her — a  command 
which  said  to  him:  This  is  she  to  whom  you  must  turn;  a 
message  whose  burden  was:  In  her  shall  you  find  yourself. 

He  seemed  to  be  hearing  the  voice  of  Eva:  Your  path  was 
from  me  to  her.  I  taught  you  to  feel.  Now  give  that  feeling  to 
a  waiting  heart.  You  can  shape  it  and  mould  it  and  yourself. 
Let  it  not  be  extinguished  nor  flicker  out  and  die. 

Thus  the  inner  voice  seemed  to  speak. 

xrv 

Crammon,  the  thrice  hardened,  had  a  dream  wherein  some 
one  reproved  him  for  standing  by  idly,  while  his  flesh  and 
blood  was  being  sold  to  an  Argentinian  ranchman.  So  he 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY   POST          119 

went  to  the  countess,  and  asked  her  if  she  indeed  intended 
to  send  the  tender  child  into  a  land  of  savages.  "  Don't  you 
feel  any  dread  at  the  thought  of  her  utter  isolation  in  these 
regions  of  the  farthest  South?  "  he  asked  her,  and  rolled  his 
hands  in  and  out,  which  gave  him  the  appearance  of  an  elderly 
usurer. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Herr  von  Crammon?  "  The 
countess  was  indignant.  "  What  right  have  you  to  question 
me?  Or  do  you  happen  to  know  a  better  man  for  her,  a 
wealthier,  more  distinguished,  more  presentable  one?  Do  you 
imagine  one  can  be  happy  only  in  Europe?  I've  had  a  look 
at  a  good  many  people.  They  ran  after  us  by  the  dozen  at 
Interlaken,  Aix-les-Bains,  at  Geneva  and  Zurich  and  Baden- 
Baden — old  and  young,  Frenchmen  and  Russians,  Germans 
and  Englishmen,  counts  and  millionaires.  We  didn't  start  out 
with  any  particular  craze  for  the  exotic.  Your  friend  Christian 
can  bear  witness  to  that!  But  he,  I  dare  say,  thought  him- 
self too  good  for  us.  It's  bad  enough  that  I  have  to  let  my 
darling  go  across  the  ocean,  without  your  coming  to  me  and 
making  my  heart  heavier  than  ever!  " 

But  Crammon  was  not  to  be  talked  down.  "  Consider  the 
matter  very  carefully  once  more,"  he  said.  "  The  responsi- 
bility is  tremendous.  Do  you  realize  that  venomous  snakes 
exist  in  those  regions  whose  bite  kills  within  five  seconds? 
I  have  read  of  storms  that  uproot  the  most  powerful  trees  and 
overturn  houses  nine  stories  high.  So  far  as  I  have  been 
informed,  certain  tribes  native  to  Terra  del  Fuego  still  prac- 
tise cannibalism.  Furthermore,  there  are  species  of  ants 
that  attack  human  beings  and  devour  them  bodily.  The  heat 
of  summer  is  said  to  be  insufferable,  and  equally  so  the  cold 
of  winter.  It  is  an  inhospitable  region,  countess,  and  a  dirty 
one  with  dangerous  inhabitants.  I  want  you  to  consider  the 
whole  matter  carefully  once  more." 

The  countess  was  rather  overcome.  Delighted  with  the 
effect  of  his  words,  Crammon  left  her  with  head  erect. 


120          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

That  evening,  when  Letitia  was  already  in  bed,  the  countess, 
with  arms  crossed  on  her  bosom,  walked  up  and  down  in  the 
girl's  room.  Her  conscience  was  heavy,  but  she  hardly  knew 
how  to  begin  a  discussion.  All  afternoon  she  had  been  writing 
letters  and  addressing  announcements  of  the  engagement,  and 
now  she  was  tired.  The  little  dog,  Puck,  meanwhile  sat  on  a 
silken  pillow  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  barked  shrilly  and 
without  cause  from  time  to  time. 

Letitia  stared  into  the  dim  space  above  her  with  eyes  that 
gleamed  softly  with  the  mystery  of  dreams.  So  rapt  was  she 
that  if  one  had  pressed  a  pin  into  her  flesh  she  would  not  have 
noticed  it. 

At  last  the  countess  conquered  herself  sufficiently.  She  sat 
down  near  the  bed,  and  took  Letitia's  hands  into  her  own. 
"  Is  it  true,  sweetheart,"  she  began,  "  and  did  Stephen  tell  you 
about  all  these  things  that  Herr  von  Crammon  speaks  of — 
venomous  snakes  and  cannibals  and  tornadoes  and  wild  ants 
and  frightful  heat  and  cold  in  this  terrible  country  that  you're 
going  to?  If  all  this  is  true,  I  want  to  beseech  you  to  recon- 
sider very  thoroughly  this  step  that  you're  about  to  take." 

Letitia  laughed  a  deep  and  hearty  laugh.  "  Are  you  begin- 
ning to  get  frightened  now,  auntie?  "  she  cried,  "  just  as  I've 
been  dreaming  about  the  future!  Crammon  has  played  an 
ill-timed  prank.  That  is  all.  Stephen  never  lies,  and  accord- 
ing to  his  description  the  Argentine  is  a  veritable  earthly 
paradise.  Do  listen,  auntie!  "  She  said  this  with  an  air  of 
mystery,  moved  to  the  edge  of  her  bed,  and  regarded  the 
countess  full  of  confidence  and  delight.  "  The  land  is  full  of 
peaches  as  large  as  a  child's  head  and  of  the  most  exquisite 
flavour.  They  are  so  plentiful  that  those  that  cannot  be  eaten 
or  sold  are  piled  up  in  great  heaps  and  burned.  They  have 
game  of  all  sorts,  which  they  prepare  in  wonderful  ways  quite 
unknown  in  Europe,  and  fishes  and  fowl  and  honey,  the  rarest 
vegetables,  and  everything  that  the  heart  can  desire." 

The  countess'  face  brightened.     She  petted  Letitia's  arm, 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST          121 

and  said:  "Well,  of  course,  in  that  case,  and  if  it  is  really 
so  .  .  ." 

But  Letitia  went  on:  "  When  I've  become  thoroughly  accli- 
mated and  familiar  with  everything,  I'll  ask  you,  dear  aunt,  to 
come  out  to  us.  You'll  have  a  house  of  your  own,  a  charming 
villa  all  overgrown  with  flowers.  Your  pantries  shall  be  rilled 
afresh  daily  and  you  shall  have  a  marble  bath  next  to  your 
bedroom.  You'll  be  able  to  get  into  it  as  often  as  you  like,  and 
you  will  have  Negro  women  to  wait  on  you." 

"  That  is  right,  my  darling,"  the  countess  answered,  and  her 
face  was  transfigured  with  delight.  "  Whether  it's  a  paradise 
or  not,  I  am  pretty  sure  that  it  will  be  dirty.  And  dirt,  as  you 
know,  is  something  I  hate  almost  as  much  as  poisonous  serpents 
or  cannibals." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  auntie,"  said  Letitia,  "  we'll  lead  a  wonder- 
ful life  there." 

The  countess  was  calmed,  and  embraced  Letitia  with  over- 
whelming gratitude. 

xv 

In  order  to  escape  from  the  confusion  at  Wahnschaffe 
Castle,  as  the  new  house  was  known,  Christian  and  Crammon 
retired  for  several  days  to  Christian's  Rest.  Scarcely  had 
they  settled  down,  when  they  were  joined  by  Judith  and  her 
companion,  by  Letitia  and  Fraulein  von  Einsiedel. 

The  countess  and  Stephen  Gunderam  had  gone  to  Heidel- 
berg, where  they  were  expecting  Frau  von  Febronius.  Letitia 
was  to  follow  them  a  week  later.  Felix  had  been  summoned 
to  Leipzig,  where  he  was  to  join  in  the  founding  of  a  great 
new  publishing  house.  After  his  return  to  the  castle,  his  and 
Judith's  wedding  was  to  take  place. 

Judith  announced  that  she  intended  to  enjoy  the  last  days  of 
her  liberty.  It  had  not  needed  much  persuasion  to  bring 
Letitia  with  her.  The  companion  and  Fraulein  von  Einsiedel 
were  regarded  as  chaperones,  and  so  with  laughter  and  merri- 


122          THE  WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

ment    these    four    surprised    Christian    and    Crammon    sud- 
denly. 

The  weather  was  beautiful,  though  somewhat  cold.  They 
passed  most  of  their  time  out  of  doors,  walking  in  the  woods, 
playing  golf,  arranging  picnics.  The  evenings  flew  by  in  cheer- 
ful talk.  Once  Crammon  read  to  them  Goethe's  "  Torquato 
Tasso,"  and  imitated  the  intonation  and  the  rhythms  of  Edgar 
Lorm  so  deceptively  that  Judith  grew  excited  and  could  not 
hear  enough.  She  was  attracted  by  the  very  imitation  that  he 
practised;  to  Letitia  the  verses  were  like  wine;  Fraulein  von 
Einsiedel,  who  had  been  mourning  a  lost  love  for  years,  strug- 
gled with  her  tears  at  many  passages.  Judith,  on  the  other 
hand,  saw  an  adored  image  in  a  magic  mirror,  and  when  the 
reading  was  over,  turned  the  conversation  to  Lorm,  and  be- 
sought Crammon  to  tell  her  about  him. 

Crammon  did  as  she  desired.  He  told  her  of  the  actor's 
romantic  friendship  with  a  king,  of  his  first  marriage  to  a 
fair-haired  Jewess.  He  had  loved  her  madly,  and  she  had  left 
him  suddenly  and  fled  to  America.  He  had  followed  her 
thither,  and  tracked  her  from  place  to  place,  but  all  his  efforts 
to  win  her  back  had  been  in  vain.  He  had  returned  in  grave 
danger  of  losing  himself  and  wasting  his  talent.  Lonely  and 
divided  in  his  soul,  he  had  tried  to  settle  in  various  places.  He 
had  broken  his  contracts,  been  outlawed  by  the  managers,  and 
barely  tolerated  by  the  public  as  a  dangerous  will  o'  the 
wisp.  At  last,  however,  his  genius  had  fought  down  all  un- 
fortunate circumstances  as  well  as  the  weaknesses  of  his  own 
nature,  and  he  was  now  the  most  radiant  star  in  the  heaven  of 
his  art. 

When  Crammon  had  ended,  Judith  came  up  to  him  and 
stroked  his  cheeks.  "  That  was  charming,  Crammon.  I  want 
you  to  be  rewarded." 

Crammon  laughed  in  his  deepest  bass  voice,  and  answered: 
"  Then  I  ask  as  my  reward  that  you  four  ladies  return  to- 
•morrow  morning  to  the  castle,  and  leave  my  friend  Christian 


AN   OWL   ON   EVERY   POST          123 

and  me  to  each  other's  silence.  Isn't  it  true,  Christian,  dear 
boy?  We  like  to  brood  over  the  mysteries  of  the  world." 

"The  brute!"  they  cried  out,  "the  traitor!  The  base 
intriguer!  "  But  it  was  only  a  jesting  indignation.  Their  re- 
turn had  really  been  set  for  the  next  day. 

Christian  arose  and  said:  "  Bernard  is  not  wrong  when  he 
says  we  desire  silence.  It  is  lovely  to  be  surrounded  by  love- 
liness. But  you  girls  are  too  restless  and  unquiet."  He  had 
spoken  in  jest.  But  as  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead, 
one  could  see  the  deep  seriousness  in  his  heart. 

They  all  looked  at  him.  There  was  something  strangely 
proud  about  his  appearance.  Letitia's  heart  beat.  When  he 
looked  at  her,  her  eyes  fell  and  she  blushed  deeply.  She  loved 
all  that  he  was,  all  that  lay  behind  him,  all  that  he  had  ex- 
perienced, all  women  he  had  loved,  all  men  from  whom  he 
came  or  to  whom  he  went. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  the  little  golden  toad.  She  had 
brought  it  with  her  and  she  determined  to  give  it  to  him  to-day. 
But  to  do  that  she  wanted  to  be  alone  with  him. 

XVI 

It  was  her  wish  that  their  meeting  be  at  night,  and  she  gave 
him  a  sign.  Unnoticed  by  the  others,  she  succeeded  in  whis- 
pering to  him  that  she  would  come  to  him  that  night  with  a 
gift.  He  was  to  wait  for  her. 

He  looked  at  her  without  a  word.  When  she  glided  away, 
his  lips  throbbed. 

After  midnight,  when  all  were  asleep  in  the  house,  she  left 
her  chamber,  and  mounted  to  the  upper  floor  where  Christian 
had  his  rooms.  She  went  softly  but  without  especial  fear. 
Bending  her  head  forward,  she  held  in  her  hands  the  folds  of 
the  white  silken  over-garment  that  she  wore.  Its  transparent 
texture  was  more  like  a  white  shimmer,  a  pearly  gleam  upon  her 
flesh  than  a  garment.  It  was  doubled  only  about  her  waist 
and  bosom,  and  her  steps  were  impeded  by  a  satin  riband  about 


124          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

her  knees.  Thus,  while  her  pulses  throbbed,  she  had  to  trip, 
to  her  own  amusement,  like  the  Geisha  girls  she  had  seen  in  a 
theatre. 

When  Christian  had  locked  the  door  behind  her,  she  leaned 
against  it  in  sudden  weakness. 

Gently  he  took  her  wrists,  and  breathed  a  kiss  upon  her 
forehead,  smiled,  and  asked:  "What  did  you  want  to  bring  to 
me,  Letitia?  I  long  to  know." 

Suddenly  she  was  aware  that  she  had  forgotten  the  golden 
toy.  Shortly  before  she  had  left  her  room,  she  had  laid  it  in 
readiness;  and  yet  she  had  forgotten  it.  "  How  stupid  of  me!  " 
The  words  slipped  out,  and  she  gazed  in  shame  at  her  little 
shoes  of  black  velvet.  "  How  stupid  of  me!  There  was  a  little 
toad  made  of  gold  that  I  meant  to  bring  to  you." 

It  startled  him.  Then  he  recalled  the  words  that  he  had 
spoken  so  many  months  ago.  The  intervening  time  seemed 
thrice  its  natural  length.  He  wondered  now  how  he  could 
ever  have  been  frightened  of  a  toad.  He  could,  to  be  sure,  hear 
his  own  words  again:  "  Have  a  little  toad  made  of  gold,  that 
the  evil  magic  may  disappear."  But  the  monition  had  no 
validity  to-day.  The  spell  had  been  broken  without  a  talisman. 

And  as  he  saw  the  girl  stand  before  him,  quivering  and 
intoxicated,  the  trembling  and  the  ecstasy  seized  him  too. 
Many  others  had  come  to  him — none  so  innocent  and  yet  so 
guilty,  none  so  determined  and  so  deluded  at  once.  He  knew 
those  gestures,  that  silent  yearning,  the  eye  that  flamed  and 
smouldered,  the  half-denial  and  the  half-assent,  the  clinging 
and  repulsing,  the  sighs  and  the  magical  tears  that  tasted 
like  warm  and  salty  dew.  He  knew!  And  his  senses  urged  him 
with  all  their  power  to  experience  and  to  taste  it  all  again. 

But  there  were  things  that  stood  between  him  and  his 
desire.  There  was  a  pallid  brunette  face  whose  eyes  were 
upon  him  with  unimaginable  clearness.  There  was  a  blood- 
soaked  face  to  which  the  black  hair  clung.  There  was  a  face 
that  had  once  been  beautiful,  swollen  by  the  waters  of  the 


AN   OWL   ON   EVERY   POST          125 

Thames.  And  there  was  a  face  full  of  hatred  and  shame  against 
the  coarse  linen  of  a  bed,  and  another  in  the  storeroom  of  a 
hotel  which  was  swathed  in  a  white  cloth.  There  were  other 
faces — faces  of  men  and  women,  thousands  upon  thousands,  on 
the  shore  of  a  river,  and  still  others  that  were  stamped  upon 
and  charred,  which  he  had  seen  as  though  they  were  concrete 
realities  through  the  eyes  of  another.  All  these  things  stood 
between  him  and  his  desire. 

And  his  heart  opposed  it  too.  And  the  love  that  he  felt  for 
Letitia. 

He  grew  a  little  paler,  and  a  chill  crept  into  his  finger- 
tips. He  took  Letitia  by  the  hand,  and  led  her  to  the  middle 
of  the  room.  She  looked  about  her  timidly,  but  every  glance 
was  his  who  filled  her  whole  being.  She  asked  him  concerning 
the  pictures  that  hung  on  the  wall,  and  admired  a  picture  of 
himself  which  was  among  them.  She  asked  after  the  meaning 
of  a  little  sculptured  group  which  he  had  bought  in  Paris:  a 
man  and  a  woman  emerging  from  the  earth  of  which  they  were 
made,  contending  with  primitive  power. 

Her  deep  voice  had  a  more  sensuous  note  than  ever.  And 
as  he  answered  her,  the  temptation  assailed  him  anew  to  touch 
with  his  lips  the  warm,  rosy,  throbbing  curve  of  her  shoulder, 
which  was  like  a  ripe  fruit.  But  an  inescapable  voice  within 
him  cried:  Resist  once!  Resist  but  this  single  time! 

It  was  difficult,  but  he  obeyed. 

Letitia  did  not  know  what  was  happening  to  her.  She 
shivered,  and  begged  him  to  close  the  window.  But  when  he 
had  done  so,  her  chill  increased.  She  looked  at  him  furtively. 
His  face  seemed  arrogant  and  alien.  They  had  sat  down  on  a 
divan,  and  silence  had  fallen  upon  them.  Why  did  I  forget  the 
little  toad?  Letitia  thought.  My  folly  is  to  blame  for  every- 
thing. And  instinctively  she  moved  away  from  him  a  little. 

"  Letitia,"  he  said,  and  arose,  "  perhaps  you  will  understand 
it  all  some  day."  Then  he  kneeled  on  the  floor  at  her  feet,  and 
took  her  cool  hands  and  laid  them  against  his  cheeks. 


126          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  No,  I  don't  understand,"  Letitia  whispered,  and  her  eyes 
were  wet,  although  she  smiled,  "  and  I  shall  never  understand." 

"You  will!     Some  day  you  will!  " 

"  Never,"  she  asserted  passionately,  "  never !  "  All  things 
were  confused  within  her.  She  thought  of  flowers  and  stars, 
of  dreams  and  images.  She  thought  of  birds  that  fell  dead  out 
of  the  air,  as  he  had  described  them  once,  and  a  deer  dying 
at  the  hunter's  feet.  She  thought  of  paths  upon  which  she 
would  go,  of  far  sea-faring,  and  of  jewels  and  costly  garments. 
But  none  of  these  images  held  her.  They  were  formed  and 
dissolved.  A  chain  broke  in  her  soul,  and  she  felt  a  need  to  lie 
down  and  weep  for  a  while.  Not  for  long.  And  it  was  pos- 
sible that,  when  the  weeping  was  over,  she  might  look  forward 
with  delight  once  more  to  the  coming  day  and  to  Stephen 
Gunderam  and  to  their  wedding. 

"  Good-night,  Christian,"  she  said,  and  gave  him  her  hand 
as  after  a  simple  chat.  And  all  the  objects  in  the  room  had 
changed  their  appearance.  On  the  table  stood  a  cut-glass  bowl 
full  of  meadow-saffron,  and  their  white  stalks  were  like  the 
antennae  of  a  polypus.  The  night  outside  was  no  longer  the 
same  night.  One  seemed  quite  free  now  in  a  peculiar  way — 
in  a  defiant  and  vengeful  way. 

Christian  was  amazed  by  her  gesture  and  posture.  He  had 
not  touched  her;  yet  it  was  a  girl  who  had  come  to  him,  and 
it  was  a  woman  who  went.  "  I  will  think  about  it,"  she  said, 
and  nodded  to  him  with  a  great,  dark  look.  "  I  will  learn  to 
understand  it." 

So  she  went — went  on  into  her  rich,  poverty-stricken,  ad- 
venturous, difficult,  trifling  life. 

Christian  listened  to  the  dying  echo  of  her  tread  beyond  the 
door.  He  stood  without  moving,  and  his  head  was  bent.  To 
him,  too,  the  night  had  changed  into  another.  Despite  his 
obedience  to  the  inner  voice,  a  doubt  gnawed  at  his  soul  whether 
what  he  had  done  was  right  or  wrong,  good  or  evil. 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST          127 

XVII 

One  day  Christian  received  a  letter  that  bore  the  signature 
of  Ivan  Michailovitch  Becker.  Becker  informed  him  that  he 
was  staying  for  a  short  time  in  Frankfort,  and  that  a  woman, 
a  mutual  friend,  had  insisted  that  he  should  visit  Christian 
Wahnschaffe.  But  this  he  would  not  do  for  well-considered 
reasons.  If,  however,  Christian  Wahnschaffe's  state  of  mind 
was  such  as  their  friend  seemed  to  assume,  he  would  be  glad 
to  see  him  on  some  evening. 

Eva's  name  was  not  mentioned.  But  twice  he  spoke  of  that 
woman  who  was  their  mutual  friend — twice.  And  Becker 
had  added  the  street  where  he  lived  and  the  number  of  the 
house. 

Christian's  first  impulse  was  to  ignore  the  invitation.  He 
told  himself  that  there  was  nothing  in  common  between  him 
and  Becker.  The  Russian  had  not  been  congenial  to  him.  He 
had  disapproved  and  arrogantly  overlooked  the  man's  friend- 
ship with  Eva.  Whenever  he  thought  of  his  ugly  face,  his 
dragging  gait,  his  sombre,  silent  presence,  a  sense  of  dis- 
comfort seized  upon  him.  What  did  the  man  want?  Why 
this  summons  in  which  there  was  a  shadow  of  menace? 

After  he  had  tried  in  vain  to  keep  from  brooding  over  this 
incident,  he  showed  the  letter  to  Crammon,  in  the  secret  hope 
that  his  friend  would  warn  him  against  any  response.  Cram- 
mon read  the  letter,  but  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  noth- 
ing. Crammon  was  in  a  bad  humour;  Crammon  was  hurt. 
He  had  felt  for  some  time  that  Christian  excluded  him  from 
his  confidence.  In  addition  he  was  thinking  far  more  of  Eva 
Sorel  than  was  good  for  the  peace  of  his  soul.  He  paid  ardent 
attention  to  Fraulein  von  Einsiedel,  nor  was  that  lady  un- 
responsive. But  this  triumph  could  not  restore  the  equilibrium 
of  his  mind,  and  Becker's  letter  opened  his  old  wound  anew. 

Christian  put  an  end  to  his  vacillation  by  a  sudden  decision, 
and  started  out  to  find  Becker.  The  house  was  in  the  suburbs, 


128          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

and  he  had  to  climb  the  four  flights  of  stairs  of  a  common 
tenement.  He  was  careful  to  come  in  contact  with  neither  the 
walls  nor  the  balustrades.  When  he  had  reached  the  door  and 
pulled  the  bell,  he  was  pale  with  embarrassment  and  disgust. 

When  Christian  had  entered  the  shabbily  furnished  room 
and  sat  opposite  Becker,  what  impressed  him  most  was  the 
stamp  of  suffering  on  the  Russian's  face.  He  asked  himself 
whether  this  was  new  or  whether  he  had  merely  not  per- 
ceived it  before.  When  Becker  spoke  to  him,  his  answers 
were  shy  and  awkward. 

"  Madame  Sorel  is  going  to  Petrograd  in  the  spring,"  Ivan 
Michailovitch  told  him.  "  She  has  signed  a  three-months' 
contract  with  the  Imperial  Theatre  there." 

Christian  expressed  his  pleasure  at  this  information.  "  Are 
you  going  to  stay  here  long?  "  he  asked,  courteously. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer.  "  I'm  waiting  for  a 
message  here.  Afterwards  I  shall  join  my  friends  in  Switzer- 
land." 

"  My  last  conversation  with  Madame  Sorel,"  he  continued, 
"  was  exclusively  about  you."  He  watched  Christian  atten- 
tively out  of  his  deep-set  eyes. 

"  About  me?  Ah  .  .  . "  Christian  forced  himself  to  a 
conventional  smile, 

"  She  insisted  on  my  remaining  in  communication  with  you. 
She  said  that  it  meant  much  to  her,  but  gave  no  reason.  She 
never  does  give  reasons,  though.  She  insisted  likewise  that 
I  send  her  a  report.  Yet  she  did  not  even  give  me  a  message 
for  you.  But  she  kept  repeating:  '  It  means  something  to 
me,  and  it  may  mean  very  much  to  him.'  So  you  see  that  I  am 
only  her  instrument.  But  I  hope  that  you  are  not  angry  with 
me  for  annoying  you." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  Christian  asserted,  although  he  felt  op- 
pressed. "  Only  I  can't'  imagine  what  is  in  her  mind."  He 
sat  there  wondering,  and  added:  "  She  has  her  very  personal 
ways!  " 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST          129 

Ivan  Becker  smiled,  and  the  moisture  of  his  thick  lips  be- 
came unpleasantly  visible.  "  It  is  very  true.  She  is  an  en- 
thusiastic creature,  and  a  woman  of  great  gifts.  She  has  power 
over  others,  and  is  determined  to  use  that  power." 

A  pause  ensued. 

"  Can  I  be  of  assistance  to  you?  "  Christian  asked  conven- 
tionally. 

Becker  regarded  him  coldly.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  not  of  the 
least."  He  turned  his  eyes  to  the  window,  from  which  one 
could  see  the  chimneys  of  the  factories,  the  smoke,  and  the 
sinister  snow-fraught  air.  Since  the  room  was  unheated,  he 
had  a  .travelling  rug  spread  across  -his  knees,  and  under  it  he 
hid  his  crippled  hand.  A  movement  of  his  limbs  shifted  the 
rug,  and  the  hand  became  visible.  -Christian  knew  the  story  of 
it.  Crammon  had  told  him  at  the  time  in  Paris  of  his  meeting 
and  his  talk  with  Becker.  He  had  heard  it  with  indifference," 
and  had  avoided  looking  at  the  hand. 

Now  he  regarded  it.  Then  he  got  up,  and  with  a  gesture 
of  freedom  and  assurance,  which  astonished  even  Becker, 
despite  the  Russian's  superficial  knowledge  of  him,  he  held 
out  his  own  hand.  Ivan  Michailovitch  gave  him  his  left  hand, 
which  Christian  held  long  and  pressed  cordially.  Then  he  left 
without  speaking  another  word. 

XVIII 

But  on  the  following  day  he  returned. 

Ivan  Michailovitch  told  him  the  story  of  his  life.  He 
offered  him  a  simple  hospitality,  made  tea,  and  even  had  the 
room  heated.  He  spoke  rather  disconnectedly,  with  half- 
closed  eyes  and  a  morbid,  suffering  smile.  ,  Now  he  would  re- 
late episodes  of  his  youth,  now  of  his  later  years.  The  burden 
was  always  the  same:  oppression,  need,  persecution,  suffering 
— suffering  without  measure.  Wherever  one  went,  one  saw 
crushed  hearts,  happiness  stamped  out,  and  personalities  de- 
stroyed. His  parents  had  gone  under  in  poverty,  his  brothers 


130          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

and  sisters  had  drifted  away  and  were  lost,  his  friends  had 
fallen  in  wars  or  died  in  exile.  It  was  a  life  without  centre  or 
light  or  hope — a  world  of  hate  and  malevolence,  cruelty  and 
darkness. 

Christian  sat  there  and  listened  until  late  into  the  night. 

Next  they  met  in  a  coffee  house,  an  ugly  place  which 
Christian  would  once  not  have  endured,  and  sat  until  far  into 
the  night.  Often  they  sat  in  silence;  and  this  silence  tormented 
Christian,  and  kept  him  in  a  state  of  unbearable  tension.  But 
his  expression  was  a  gentle  one. 

They  took  walks  along  the  river,  or  through  the  streets  and 
parks  in  the  snow.  Ivan  Michailovitch  spoke  of  Pushkin  and 
Byelinsky,  of  Bakunin  and  Herzen,  of  Alexander  I  and  the  leg- 
end of  his  translation  to  heaven,  and  of  the  peasants — the 
poor,  dark  folk.  He  spoke  of  the  innumerable  martyrs  of  for- 
gotten names,  men  and  women  whose  actions  and  sufferings 
beat  at  the  heart  of  mankind,  and  whose  blood,  as  he  said,  was 
the  red  dawn  of  the  sunrise  of  a  new  and  other  age. 

So  Christian  kept  disappearing  from  his  home,  and  no  one 
knew  where  he  went. 

Once  Ivan  Michailovitch  said:  "  I  am  told  that  a  working- 
man  made  a  murderous  assault  on  your  father.  The  man  was 
condemned  to  seven  years  in  the  penitentiary  yesterday." 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,"  Christian  replied.  "  What  was  his  name?, 
I  have  forgotten  it." 

It  turned  out  that  the  man's  name  was  neither  Schmidt  nor 
Miiller,  but  Roderick  Kroll.  Ivan  Michailovitch  knew  it. 
"  There's  a  wife  and  five  little  children  left  in  extreme  distress," 
he  said.  "  Have  you  ever  tried  for,  a  moment  to  grasp  imagina- 
tively what  that  means — real  distress?  Is  your  imagination 
powerful  enough  to  realize  it?  Have  you  ever  seen  the  counte- 
nance of  a  human  being  that  suffered  hunger?  There  is  this 
woman.  She  bore  five  children,  and  loves  these  children  just 
as  your  mother  loves  hers.  Very  well.  The  drawers  are  empty, 
the  hearth  is  cold,  the  bedding  is  in  pawn,  their  clothes  and 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY   POST          131 

shoes  are  in  rags.  These  children  are  human,  each  one,  just 
as  you  and  I  are.  They  have  the  same  instinctive  expectation 
of  content,  bread,  quiet  sleep,  and  pure  air,  that  you  have  or 
Herr  von  Crammon  or  countless  others,  who  never  realize  re- 
flectively that  all  these  things  are  theirs.  Very  well.  Now 
the  world  does  not  only  feign  to  know  nothing  of  all  this,  not 
only  resents  being  reminded  of  it,  but  actually  demands  of 
these  beings  that  they  are  to  be  silent,  that  they  accept  and 
endure  hunger,  nakedness,  cold,  disease,  the  theft  of  their 
natural  rights,  and  the  insolent  injustice  of  it  all,  as  something 
quite  natural  and  inevitable.  Have  you  ever  thought  about 
that?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  Christian  replied,  softly,  "  that  I  have 
never  thought  at  all." 

"  This  man,"  Ivan  Michailovitch  continued,  "  this  Roderick 
Kroll,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  learn,  was  systematically 
exasperated  to  the  very  quick.  He  was  an  enthusiastic  social- 
ist, but  somewhat  of  an  annoyance  even  to  his  own  party  on 
account  of  his  extreme  views  and  his  violent  propaganda. 
The  masters  dug  the  ground  from  under  his  feet.  They  em- 
bittered him  by  the  constant  sting  of  small  intrigues,  and 
drove  him  to  despair.  The  intention  was  to  render  him  harm- 
less and  to  force  him  to  silence.  But  tell  me  this:  is  there  an 
extreme  on  the  side  of  the  oppressed  that  is  so  unfair,  so  inso- 
lent, so  damnable  as  the  extreme  on  the  other  side — the  arro- 
gance, luxury,  revelling,  the  hardness  of  heart,  and  the  in- 
sensate extravagance  of  every  day  and  every  hour?  You  did 
not  even  know  the  name  of  that  man!  " 

Christian  stood  still.  The  wind  blew  the  snow  into  his 
face,  and  wet  his  forehead  and  cheeks.  "What  shall  I  do, 
Ivan  Michailovitch?  "  he  asked,  slowly.  , 

Ivan  Michailovitch  stopped  too.  "  What  shall  I  do?  "  he 
cried.  "  That  is  what  they  all  ask.  That  is  what  Prince 
Jakovlev  Grusin  asked,  one  of  our  chief  magnates  and  marshal 
of  the  nobility  in  the  province  of  Novgorod.  After  he  had 


132          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

starved  his  peasants,  plundered  his  tenants,  sent  his  officials 
to  Siberia,  violated  girls,  seduced  women,  driven  his  own  sons 
to  despair,  spent  his  life  in  gluttony,  drunkenness,  and  whor- 
ing, and  heaped  crime  upon  crime — he  went  into  a  monastery  in 
the  seventy-fourth  year  of  his  age,  and  day  after  day  kneeled  in 
his  cell  and  cried:  'What  shall  I  do?  My  Lord  and  Saviour, 
what  shall  I  do?  '  And  no  one,  naturally,  had  an  answer  for 
him.  I  have  heard  the  question  asked  softly  by  another,  whose 
soul  was  clean  and  white.  He  was  going  to  his  death,  and  his 
age  was  seventeen.  Nine  men  with  their  rifles  stood  by  the 
trench  of  the  fortress.  He  approached,  reeling  a  little,  and  his 
guiltless  soul  asked:  '  Father  in  Heaven,  what  shall  I  do? 
What  shall  I  do?  '  "  ' 

Ivan  Michailovitch  walked  on,  and  Christian  followed  him. 
"  And  we  poor  men,  we  terribly  poor  men,"  Ivan  Becker  said, 
"  what  shall  we  do?  " 

XIX 

Judith's  wedding  was  to  be  celebrated  with  great  magnifi- 
cence. 

Even  to  the  preliminary  festival  more  than  two  hundred 
guests  had  been  invited.  There  was  no  end  to  the  line  of 
motor  cars  and  carriages. 

The  coal  and  iron  barons  of  the  whole  province  appeared, 
military  and  civil  officials  of  high  rank  with  their  ladies,  the 
chief  patricians  and  financiers  of  Frankfort,  members  of  the 
Court  circles  of  Darmstadt  and  Karlsruhe,  and  friends  from 
afar.  A  tenor  from  Berlin,  a  famous  lyric  singer,  a  Viennese 
comedian,  a  magician,  and  a  juggler  had  been  engaged  to 
furnish  the  guests  with  amusement. 

The  great  horse-shoe  table  in  the  dining-hall,  radiant  with 
gold,  silver,  and  cut  glass,  had  three  hundred  and  thirty  covers. 

The  festive  throng  surged  up  and  down  in  the  marble  gallery 
and  the  adjoining  rooms.  Yellow  and  rose  predominated  in  the 
toilettes  of  the  ladies;  the  young  girls  were  mostly  in  white. 


AN   OWL   ON   EVERY   POST          133 

Bare  shoulders  were  agleam  with  diamonds  and  pearls.  The 
severe  black  and  white  of  the  men  effectually  softened  the 
gorgeousness  of  the  colour  scheme. 

Christian  was  walking  up  and  down  with  Randolph  von 
Stettner,  a  young  lieutenant  of  hussars,  stationed  at  Bonn. 
They  had  been  friends  since  their  boyhood,  had  not  seen  each 
other  for  several  years,  and  were  exchanging  reminiscences. 
Randolph  von  Stettner  said  that  he  was  not  very  happy  in  his 
profession;  he  would  much  rather  have  taken  a  university 
degree.  He  had  a  strong  taste  for  the  study  of  chemistry,  and 
felt  out  of  place  as  a  soldier.  "  But  it  is  futile  to  kick  against 
the  pricks,"  he  ended,  sighing;  "  a  man  must  merely  take  the 
bit  between  his  teeth  and  keep  still." 

Christian  happened  to  observe  Letitia,  who  stood  in  the 
centre  of  a  circle  of  men.  Upon  her  forehead  was  forgetful- 
ness  ;  she  knew  nothing  of  yesterday  and  nothing  of  to-morrow. 
There  was  no  one  else  so  absorbed  by  the  passing  hour  as  she. 

A  footman  approached  Christian  and  gave  him  a  card.  The 
footman  frowned  doubtfully,  for  the  card  was  not  quite  clean. 
On  it  Christian  read  these  pencilled  words:  "I.  M.  Becker 
must  speak  with  you  at  once."  Hurriedly  he  excused  himself 
and  went  out. 

Ivan  Michailovitch  stood  perfectly  still  in  the  outer  hall. 
Newly  arrived  guests,  who  gave  the  footmen  their  hats  and 
coats,  passed  by  without  noticing  him.  The  men  took  mincing 
steps,  the  ladies  sought  the  mirror  for  a  final  look  with  their 
excited  eyes. 

Ivan  Michailovitch  wore  a  long  grey  coat,  shabby  and  wet. 
The  black-bearded  face  was  pale  as  wax.  Christian  drew  him 
into  an  empty  corner  of  the  hall,  where  they  were  undisturbed. 

"  I  beg  you  to  forgive  me  for  throwing  a  shadow  on  all  this 
festivity,"  Ivan  Michailovitch  began,  "  but  I  had  no  choice.  I 
received  a  notification  of  expulsion  from  the  police  this  after- 
noon. I  must  leave  the  city  and  the  country  within  twelve 
hours.  The  simple  favour  I  ask  of  you  is  to  take  this  note- 


134          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

book  into  your  keeping,  until  I  myself  or  some  properly  identi- 
fied friend  asks  it  back."  He  glanced  swiftly  about  him,  took 
a  thin,  blue  notebook  out  of  his  pocket,  and  gave  it  to 
Christian,  who  slid  it  swiftly  and  unobtrusively  into  a  pocket 
of  his  evening  coat. 

"  It  contains  memoranda  in  Russian,"  Ivan  continued, 
"  which  have  no  value  to  any  one  but  myself,  but  which  must 
not  be  found  on  me.  Since  I  am  being  expelled  there  is  little 
doubt  but  that  my  person  and  effects  will  be  searched." 

"  Won't  you  come  and  rest  in  my  room?  "  Christian  asked, 
timidly.  "  Won't  you  eat  or  drink  something?  " 

Ivan  Michailovitch  shook  his  head.  From  the  hall  floated 
the  sound  of  the  violins,  playing  an  ingratiating  air  by  Puccini. 

"  Won't  you  at  least  dry  your  coat?  "  Christian  asked  again. 
The  strains  of  the  music,  the  splendour  there  within,  the  merri- 
ment and  laughter,  the  fullness  of  beauty  and  happiness,  all 
this  presented  so  sharp  a  contrast  to  the  appearance  of  this 
man  in  a  wet  coat,  with  wax-like  face  and  morbidly  flaming 
eyes,  that  Christian  could  no  longer  endure  his  apparently  un- 
feeling position  between  these  two  worlds,  of  whose  utter  and 
terrible  alienation  from  each  other  he  was  acutely  aware. 

Ivan  Michailovitch  smiled.  "  It  is  kind  of  you  to  think  of 
my  coat.  But  you  can't  do  any  good.  It  will  only  get  wet 
again." 

"  I'd  like  to  take  you,  just  as  you  are,"  said  Christian,  and 
he  smiled  too,  "  and  go  in  there  with  you." 

Ivan  Michailovitch  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  his  face  grew 
dark. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  like  to  do  that,"  Christian 
murmured.  "  I  don't  know  why  it  tempts  me.  I  stand  before 
you,  and  you  put  me  in  the  wrong.  Whether  I  speak  or  am 
silent  does  not  matter.  By  merely  being  I  am  in  the  wrong. 
We  should  not  be  conversing  here  in  the  servants'  corner.  You 
are  making  some  demand  of  me,  Ivan  Michailovitch,  are  you 
not?  What  is  it  that  you  demand?  " 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST  135 

The  words  bore  witness  to  a  confusion  of  the  emotions  that 
went  to  the  very  core  of  his  being.  They  throbbed  with  the 
yearning  to  become  and  to  be  another  man.  Ivan  Michailo- 
vitch,  in  a  sudden  flash  of  intuition,  saw  and  understood.  At 
first  he  had  suspected  that  here  was  but  a  lordly  whim,  or  that  it 
was  at  best  but  the  foolish  and  thoughtless  defiance  of  a  too 
swiftly  ardent  proselyte  that  urged  this  proud  and  handsome 
man  to  his  words.  He  recognized  his  error  now.  He  under- 
stood that  he  heard  a  cry  for  help,  and  that  it  came  from  the 
depth  of  one  of  those  decisive  moments  of  which  life  holds 
but  few. 

"  What  is  it  that  I  am  to  demand  of  you,  Christian  Wahn- 
schaffe?  "  he  asked,  earnestly.  "  Surely  not  that  you  drag  me 
in  there  to  your  friends,  and  ask  me  to  regard  that  as  a  definite 
deed  and  as  a  triumph  over  yourself?  " 

"  It  would  not  be  that,"  Christian  said,  with  lowered 
eyes,  "but  a  simple  confession  of  my  friendship  and  my 
faith." 

"  But  consider  what  a  figure  I  would  cut  in  my  blouse,  taken 
so  unwillingly  and  emphatically,  to  use  the  Russian  proverb, 
into  the  realm  of  the  spheres.  You  would  be  forgiven.  You 
would  be  accused  of  an  eccentricity,  and  laughed  at;  but  it 
would  be  overlooked.  But  what  would  happen  to  me?  You 
could  guard  me  from  obvious  insult.  The  profound  humiliation 
of  my  position  would  still  be  the  same.  And  what  purpose 
would  such  a  boastful  action  serve?  Do  you  see  any  promise 
of  good  in  it — for  myself,  or  you,  or  the  others?  I  could  accuse 
no  one,  persuade  no  one,  convince  no  one.  Nor  would  you 
yourself  be  convinced." 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  regarded  Christian 
with  a  kind  and  virile  glance.  Then  he  continued.  "  Had  I 
appeared  in  evening  clothes,  this  whole  conversation  would  be 
without  meaning.  That  shows  how  trivial  it  is.  Why, 
Christian  Wahnschaffe,  should  I  exhibit  my  blouse  and  coat 
amid  the  garb  of  your  friends?  Do  you  go  with  me  to  a  place 


136.         THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

where  your  coat  is  a  blasphemy  and  a  stain,  and  where  my 
rough,  wet  one  is  a  thing  of  pride  and  advantage.  I  know  such 
a  house.  Go  with  me!  " 

Christian,  without  answering  a  word,  summoned  a  footman, 
took  his  fur-coat,  and  followed  Ivan  Becker  into  the  open. 
The  lackey  hurried  to  the  garage.  In  a  few  minutes  the  car 
appeared.  Christian  permitted  Ivan  Michailovitch  to  precede 
him  into  it,  asked  for  the  address,  and  sat  down  beside  him. 
The  car  started. 

xx 

Twice  before^  this  had  Ivan  Michailovitch  visited  the  family 
of  the  imprisoned  workman,  Roderick  Kroll.  His  interest  in 
these  people  was  not  an  immediate  one.  It  had  been  evoked  by 
the  interest  he  took  in  Christian  Wahnschaffe.  There  was 
something  in  Christian  that  moved  him  deeply.  After  their 
first  conversation  he  had  at  once  reflected  long  concerning  his 
personality  and  his  great  charm,  as  well  as  concerning  the 
circumstances  of  his  life  and  the  social  soil  from  which  he  had 
sprung.  And  since  the  name  of  the  industrial  baron  Wahn- 
schaffe had  been  so  closely  connected  with  the  trial  of  Roderick 
Kroll,  and  since  that  trial  had  made  quite  a  stir  in  the  world, 
his  attention  had  naturally  been  drawn  in  this  direction.  It 
is  possible  that  he  had  already  weighed  the  step  he  was  now 
taking.  For  he  was  immovably  convinced  that  many  men 
would  be  better,  and  deal  more  justly,  if  they  could  but  be 
brought  to  see,  or  given  an  opportunity  to  see,  the  realities  of 
the  world. 

Frau  Kroll  and  her  five  children  had  found  refuge  in  a  mere 
hole  of  a  garret  at  the  top  of  a  populous  tenement  on  the 
extreme  edge  of  the  city.  Before  that  she  had  inhabited  one 
of  the  numerous  cottages  for  workingmen  that  Albrecht  Wahn- 
schaffe had  built  near  his  factories.  But  she  had  been  driven 
from  this  home,  and  had  moved  to  the  city. 

The  room  she  now  had  gave  shelter  not  only  to  herself  and 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY   POST  137 

her  children,  the  oldest  of  whom  was  twelve,  but  to  three 
lodgers:  a  rag-picker,  a  hurdy-gurdy  man,  and  a  chronically 
drunken  vagabond.  The  room  had  a  floor-space  of  sixty 
square  feet ;  the  lodgers  slept  on  dirty  straw  sacks,  the  children 
on  two  ragged  mattresses  pushed  close  together,  Frau  Kroll 
on  a  shawl  and  a  bundle  of  old  clothes'  in  the  corner  where 
the  slanting  ceiling  met  the  floor. 

On  this  particular  day  the  agent  of  the  landlord  had  ap- 
peared three  times  to  demand  the  rent.  The  third  time,  since 
no  money  was  forthcoming,  he  had  threatened  to  evict  them 
all  that  night.  Fifteen  minutes  before  the  arrival  of  Ivan 
Becker  and  Christian  he  had  appeared  with  the  janitor  and 
another  helper  in  the  dim,  evil-smelling  roorrff  and  had  pro- 
ceeded to  make  good  his  threat.  His  face  had  an  expression 
of  good  nature  rather  than  of  harshness.  He  was  proud  of  the 
touch  of  humour  which  he  brought  to  the  execution  of  his 
duties.  Cries  and  lamentations  did  not  disturb  him  in  the 
least.  He  said:  "  Hurry,  children!  Come  on  there!  "  Or 
else:  "  Shoulder  your  guns  and  march!  Let's  have  no  scenes! 
Don't  get  excited!  No  use  getting  on  your  knees!  Time  is 
money!  Quick  work  is  good  work!  " 

As  was  usual  on  such  occasions,  a  commotion  stirred  all  the 
neighbours,  and  they  assembled  in  the  hall.  There  was  a 
yellow-haired  woman  in  her  shift;  there  was  one  in  a  scarlet 
dressing  gown;  there  was  a  cripple  without  legs,  an  old  man 
with  a  long  beard,  children  who  were  fighting  one  another,  a 
painted  woman  with  a  hat  as  large  as  a  cart-wheel,  another 
with  a  burning  candle  in  her  hand,  while  a  man  who  had  just 
come  in  from  the  street  in  her  company  sought  to  hide  in  the 
darkness  near  the  roof. 

What  one  heard  was  the  wailing  of  the  Kroll  children,  and 
the  hard  beseeching  voice  of  the  woman,  who  looked  on  with 
desperate  eyes  as  the  agent  and  his  men  heaped  up  her  poor 
possessions.  The  vagabond  cursed,  the  hurdy-gurdy  man 
dragged  his  straw  sack  toward  the  door,  the  agent  snapped  his 


138          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

fingers  and  said:  "  Hurry,  good  people,  hurry!     Let's  have  no 
tender  scenes!    My  supper  is  getting  cold!  " 

,  xxi 

Christian  and  Ivan  Becker  entered.  They  forced  their  way 
through  the  staring  crowd.  Christian  had  on  his  costly  fur- 
coat.  The  agent  stood  still  and  his  jaw  dropped.  His  men 
instinctively  touched  their  caps.  Ivan  Michailovitch  wanted  to 
close  the  door,  but  the  woman  in  the  big  hat  stood  on  the 
threshold  and  would  not  stir.  "  The  door  should  be  closed," 
he  said  to  the  agent,  who  went  forward  and  closed  it,  simply 
thrusting  the  ^yoman  roughly  back.  Ivan  asked  whether  the 
woman  and  her  children  were  to  be  evicted.  The  agent  de- 
clared that  she  was  unable  to  pay  her  rent,  that  one  extension 
of  time  after  another  had  been  granted  her,  but  that  to  con- 
tinue would  be  to  create  disorder  and  institute  a  bad  example. 
Ivan  Michailovitch  answered  that  he  understood  the  situation. 
Then  he  turned  to  Christian,  and  repeated  the  words  as  though 
he  needed  to  translate  them  into  another  tongue:  "  She  cannot 
pay  her  rent."  A  whistle  sounded  from  without,  and  a  woman 
screeched.  The  agent  opened  the  door,  cried  out  a  command, 
and  slammed  it  again.  Silence  ensued. 

Frau  Kroll  was  crouching  among  her  children,  her  elbows 
dug  into  her  lap.  She  had  a  robust  figure,  and  a  bony  face 
that  was  pale  as  dough  and  deeply  furrowed.  It  looked  like 
the  head  of  a  corpse.  The  children  looked  at  her  in  terror: 
two  were  mother  naked,  and  one  of  these  had  the  itch.  The 
agent,  assuming  a  benevolent  tone,  asked  Ivan  Becker  whether 
something  was  to  be  done  for  these  people ;  he  evidently  did  not 
dare  to  address  Christian.  "  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  do 
something  for  them,"  Ivan  answered,  and  turned  to  Christian. 

Christian  heard  and  saw.  He  nodded  rapidly,  and  gave  an 
impression  of  timidity  and  passionate  zeal. 

Christian's  attention  somehow  became  fixed  on  a  water  jug 
with  a  broken  handle.  The  jug  was  stamped  with  a  greenish 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST  139 

pattern  and  the  banal  arabesques  bit  into  his  mind.  The  snow- 
edged,  slanting  window  in  the  roof  troubled  him,  and  the  sight 
of  a  single  muddy  boot.  Next  a  sad  fascination  came  to  him 
from  a  rope  that  dangled  from  the  roof,  and  from  a  little 
coal-oil  lamp  with  a  smoky  chimney.  His  mere  bodily  vision 
clung  to  these  things.  But  they  passed  into  his  soul,  and  he 
merged  into  oneness  with  them.  He  himself  was  that  broken 
jug  with  its  green  figures,  the  snow-edged  window,  the  muddy 
boot,  the  dangling  rope,  the  smoky  lamp.  He  was  being  trans- 
formed as  in  a  melting  furnace,  shape  glided  into  shape;  and 
although  he  was  objectively  aware  of  what  was  taking  place 
and  also  of  the  people — the  beggar,  the  woman,  the  children, 
Ivan  Michailovitch,  the  agent,  and  those  who  waited  outside 
— yet  it  cost  him  a  passionate  effort  to  keep  them  outside  of 
himself  for  yet  a  little  while,  until  they  should  plunge  down 
upon  his  soul  with  their  torment,  despair,  cruelty,  and  mad- 
ness, like  wild  dogs  throwing  themselves  upon  a  bone. 

A  sigh  escaped  him;  a  disturbed  and  fleeting  smile  hovered 
about  his  lips.  One  of  the  children,  a  boy  of  four,  clad  in  a 
shapeless  rag,  came  to  him,  and  gazed  up  at  him  as  though  he 
were  a  tower.  At  once  the  eyes  of  the  others  were  fixed  on 
him  too.  At  least,  he  felt  them.  His  breast  seemed  a  fiery 
crucible  upborne  and  held  high  by  the  boy's  emaciated  arms. 
In  a  moment  he  had  filled  his  hand  with  gold  pieces,  and  by  a 
gesture  encouraged  the  child  to  hold  out  its  hands.  He 
poured  the  gold  into  them.  But  they  could  grasp  only  a  few. 
The  coins  rolled  on  the  floor,  and  the  people  there  watched 
them  in  dumb  amazement. 

He  drew  out  his  wallet,  took  from  it  with  trembling  fingers 
every  bank  note  it  held,  looked  about,  and  approached  the 
cowering  woman.  Then  suddenly  there  seized  him  a  strange 
contempt  for  his  own  erectness  while  she  crouched  on  the 
floor.  And  so  he  kneeled,  kneeled  down  beside  her,  and  let 
the  notes  slip  into  her  lap.  He  did  not  know  how  much  money 
there  was.  But  it  was  found  later  that  the  sum  was  four 


140          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

thousand  six  hundred  marks.  He  arose  and  took  Ivan's  arm, 
and  the  latter  understood  his  glance. 

There  was  a  breathless  silence  when  they  left.  The  agent 
and  his  men,  the  lodgers,  the  children — all  seemed  turned  to 
stone.  The  woman  stared  at  the  wealth  in  her  lap.  Then  she 
uttered  a  loud  cry  and  lost  consciousness.  The  little  boy  played 
with  the  pieces  of  gold,  and  they  clinked  as  only  gold  can, 
faintly  sweet  and  without  hardness. 

Below,  in  the  street,  Ivan  Michailovitch  said  to  Christian: 
"  That  you  kneeled  down  before  her — that  was  it,  and  that 
alone!  The  gift — there  was  something  fateful  in  it  to  me  and 
something  bitter!  But  that  you  kneeled  down  beside  her — 
ah,  that  was  it!  "  And  with  a  sudden  gesture  he  lifted  himself 
on  his  toes,  and  took  Christian's  head  between  his  hands,  and 
kissed  him  with  a  kiss  that  was  a  breath  upon  the  forehead. 
Then  he  murmured  a  word  of  farewell,  and  hurried  down  the 
street  without  looking  at  the  waiting  car. 

Christian  ordered  the  chauffeur  to  drive  out  to  Christian's 
Rest.  Two  hours  later  he  was  there,  in  deep  quietude,  the 
quietude  that  he  needed.  He  telephoned  his  family  that  un- 
foreseen events  had  prevented  him  from  staying  to  the  end  of 
the  evening's  festivities,  but  that  he  would  be  present  at  the 
ceremony  of  Judith's  marriage  without  fail.  Then  he  retired 
to  the  farthest  room  of  his  house,  and  held  vigil  all  night. 


xxn 

Letitia  married  six  weeks  after  Judith.  At  Stephen  Gun- 
deram's  desire,  however,  the  wedding  was  a  quiet  one.  There 
was  a  simple  meal  in  a  hotel  at  Heidelberg,  and  those  present 
were  Frau  von  Febronius,  the  countess,  their  two  nephews 
Ottomar  and  Reinhold,  and  an  Argentinian  friend  of  Stephen's 
— a  raw-boned  giant  who  had  been  sent  to  Germany  for  a  year 
to  acquire  polish. 

Ottomar  recited  an  original  poem  in  praise  of  his  pretty 


AN    OWL   ON    EVERY    POST  141 

cousin,  and  Reinhold  had  composed  an  address  in  the  style 
of  Luther's  table-talk.  Stephen  Gunderam  showed  small  appre- 
ciation of  the  literary  culture  of  his  new  kinsman. 

Frau  von  Febronius  was  silent  even  at  the  moment  of  fare- 
well. The  countess  wept  very  copiously.  She  provided  Letitia 
with  all  manner  of  rules  and  admonitions,  but  the  most  diffi- 
cult of  all  she  had  delayed,  out  of  sheer  cowardice  to  the  very 
last.  She  drew  Letitia  into  her  own  room  and,  blushing  and 
paling  by  turns,  attempted  to  give  the  girl  some  notion  of  the 
physiology  of  marriage.  But  her  courage  failed  her  even  now, 
and  whenever  she  approached  the  real  crux  of  her  subject, 
she  began  to  stammer  and  grow  confused.  It  amused  Letitia 
immensely. 

Stephen  Gunderam  wanted  to  depart  in  haste,  like  some  one 
anxious  to  secure  his  booty. 

Frau  von  Febronius  said  to  her  sister:  "  I  have  evil  presenti- 
ments in  regard  to  this  marriage,  even  though  the  child  seems 
quite  happy.  It  is  only  her  own  nature  that  protects  her 
against  unhappiness.  It  is  her  only  dowry,  but  a  wonderful 
one."  Then  the  countess  folded  her  hands,  and  shed  tears, 
and  said:  "  If  I  have  sinned,  I  pray  God  to  forgive  me." 

The  voyage  proved  Letitia  to  be  an  excellent  sailor.  For  a 
few  days  she  and  her  husband  stopped  in  Buenos  Ayres  and 
met  many  people.  Stephen's  acquaintances  regarded  her  with 
sympathetic  curiosity;  and  everything  was  strange  and  fasci- 
nating to  her — the  people,  the  houses,  animals,  plants,  the 
very  earth  and  sky.  But  most  fascinating  and  strange  to  her 
was  still  the  jealous  tyranny  of  the  man  she  had  married, 
although  at  times  the  fascination  held  a  touch  of  fear.  But 
when  that  assailed  her,  she  jested  even  with  herself,  and  drove 
it  away. 

Early  one  morning  there  drew  up  a  firmly  built,  heavy  little 
coach,  with  two  small,  swift  horses,  to  carry  them  the  thirty 
miles  to  the  Gunderam  estate.  Generously  provisioned  they 
left  the  city.  After  a  few  hours  the  road  ended  as  a  brook 


142          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

is  lost  in  sands,  and  before  them  stretched  to  the  very  horizon 
the  pathless  plain  of  the  pampas. 

Yet  they  were  not  unguided.  On  either  side  of  the  way 
which  the  horses  had  to  travel,  poles  had  been  driven  into  the 
grassy  earth.  These  poles  were  of  about  human  height,  and 
stood  at  intervals  of  about  twenty  yards.  Thus  the  horses 
pursued  their  way  calmly.  The  Negro  on  the  box  had  no 
need  to  urge  them  on.  The  safe  and  monotonous  journey 
permitted  him  to  sleep. 

There  were  no  settlements  at  all.  When  the  horses  needed 
food  or  came  upon  water,  a  halt  was  made  under  the  open 
sky.  No  house,  no  tree,  no  human  being  appeared  from  sun 
to  sun,  and  a  dread  stole  upon  Letitia.  She  had  long  given  up 
talking,  and  Stephen  had  long  given  up  encouraging  her.  He 
slept  like  his  coachman. 

When  the  sun  had  sunk  behind  a  veil  of  whitish  clouds, 
Letitia  stood  up,  and  gazed  searchingly  over  the  endless  plain 
of  grass.  The  high  wooden  posts  still  projected  with  unweary- 
ing regularity  at  both  sides  of  the  uncut  road. 

But  suddenly  she  saw  on  one  of  the  posts  a  greyish-brown 
bird,  moveless  and  bent,  with  huge,  round,  glowing  eyes. 

"  What  kind  of  a  bird  is  that?  "  she  asked. 

Stephen  Gunderam  started  from  his  slumber.  "  It's  an  owl," 
he  answered.  "  Have  you  never  seen  one?  Every  evening, 
when  darkness  falls,  they  sit  on  the  posts.  Look,  it  is  starting: 
there  is  one  on  each." 

Letitia  looked  and  saw  that  it  was  true.  On  every  post  and 
on  either  side,  far  as  one's  sight  could  reach,  sat  with  its  great, 
circular,  glowing  eyes  a  heavy,  slothful,  solemn  owl. 


OR  EVER  THE   SILVER   CORD   BE   LOOSED 


FRAULEIN  VON  EINSIEDEL  took  Crammon's  tender  trifling 
quite  seriously.  When  Crammon  observed  this,  he  grew  cold, 
and  planned  at  once  to  rid  himself  of  the  threatened  com- 
plication. 

She  sent  him  urgent  little  notes  by  her  maid;  he  left  them 
unanswered.  She  begged  him  for  a  meeting;  he  promised  to 
come  but  did  not.  She  reproached  him  and  inquired  after  the 
reason.  He  cast  down  his  eyes  and  answered  sadly:  "  I  was 
mistaken  in  the  hour,  dear  friend.  For  some  time  my  mind 
has  been  wandering.  I  sometimes  wake  in  the  morning  and 
fancy  that  it  is  still  evening.  I  sit  down  at  table  and  forget 
to  eat.  I  need  treatment  and  shall  consult  a  physician. 
You  must  be  indulgent,  Elise." 

But  Elise  did  not  want  to  understand.  According  to  Cram- 
mon's words  of  regretful  deprecation,  she  belonged  to  the  sort 
of  woman  who  makes  a  kiss  or  a  tender  meeting  an  excuse 
for  drawing  all  sorts  of  tiresome  and  impossible  inferences. 

He  said  to  himself:  "  You  must  be  robust  of  soul,  Bernard, 
and  not  permit  your  innate  delicacy  to  make  a  weakling  of 
you.  Here  is  a  little  trap  for  mice,  and  you  can  smell  the 
cheese  from  afar.  She  is  pretty  and  good,  but  alas,  quite  blind 
and  deluded.  As  though  a  brief  pleasure  were  not  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  a  long  wretchedness!  " 

To  be  prepared  for  any  event,  he  packed  his  belongings. 

n 

Crammon  had  discovered  where  and  in  whose  company 
Christian  had  been  on  the  night  of  the  festival  preceding 

i43 


144          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Judith's  wedding.  The  chauffeur  had  been  indiscreet.  Then 
Crammon,  in  his  brotherly  concern,  had  made  inquiries,  and 
the  rumours  that  had  reached  the  castle  had  all  been  con- 
firmed. 

One  morning,  when  they  were  both  at  Christian's  Rest, 
Crammon  entered  his  friend's  room  and  said:  "  I  can't  hold 
in  any  longer.  The  sorrow  of  it  gnaws  at  me.  You  ought  to 
be  ashamed,  Christian,  especially  of  your  secretiveness.  You 
join  fugitive  disturbers  of  the  peace  and  hurlers  of  bombs,  and 
then  you  confuse  the  innocent  poor  by  your  brainless  gener- 
osity. What  is  it  to  lead  to?  " 

Christian  smiled,  and  did  not  answer. 

"  How  can  you  expose  yourself  in  that  fashion,"  Crammon 
cried;  "yourself  and  your  family  and  your  friends?  I  shall 
tell  you  this  in  confidence,  dearest  boy:  If  you  imagine  that 
you  have  really  helped  the  woman  to  whom  that  Russian  despe- 
rado dragged  you,  you  are  badly  mistaken.  Fortunately  I 
can  rob  you  of  that  illusion." 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  about  her?  "  Christian  asked,  with 
a  surprising  indifference  in  his  tone  and  expression. 

Crammon  seemed  to  expand,  and  told  his  tale  with  breadth 
and  unction:  "  Certainly  I  have.  I  have  even  had  dealings 
with  the  police  and  saved  you  annoyance.  The  woman  was 
to  have  been  arrested  and  the  money  confiscated.  Luckily 
I  was  able  to  prevent  that.  I  believe  that  the  State  should 
keep  order,  but  I  don't  think  it  desirable  that  the  govern- 
ment should  interfere  in  our  private  affairs.  Its  duty  is  to 
safeguard  us;  there  its  function  ends.  So  much  for  that !  Con- 
cerning your  protegee  I  have  nothing  pleasant  to  report.  The 
rain  of  gold  simply  distracted  the  crowd  in  that  house.  They 
stuck  to  her  and  begged,  and  several  of  them  stole.  Naturally 
there  was  a  fight,  and  some  one  plunged  a  knife  into  some  one 
else's  bowels,  and  the  maddened  woman  beat  them  both  with 
a  coal  shovel.  The  police  had  to  interfere.  Then  the  woman 
moved  into  other  quarters,  and  bought  all  sorts  of  trash — 


THE    SILVER    CORD  145 

furniture,  beds,  clothing,  kitchen  utensils,  and  even  a  cuckoo 
clock.  You  have  seen  those  little  horrors.  A  cuckoo  comes 
out  of  the  clock  and  screams.  I  was  once  staying  with  people 
who  had  three  of  them.  Whenever  I  went  to  sleep  another 
cuckoo  screeched;  it  was  enough  to  drive  one  mad.  In  other 
respects  my  friends  were  charming. 

"  As  for  the  Kroll  woman — your  gift  robbed  her  of  every 
vestige  of  common  sense.  She  keeps  the  money  in  a  little 
box,  which  she  carries  about  and  won't  let  out  of  her  sight 
by  night  or  day.  She  buys  lottery  tickets,  penny  dreadfuls; 
the  children  are  as  dirty  as  ever  and  the  household  as  demoral- 
ized. Only  that  dreadful  cuckoo  clock  roars.  So  what  have 
you  accomplished?  Where  is  the  blessing?  Common  people 
cannot  endure  sudden  accessions  of  fortune.  You  do  not  know 
their  nature  in  the  slightest  degree,  and  the  best  thing  you  can 
do  is  to  leave  them  in  peace." 

Christian's  eyes  wandered  out  to  the  cloudy  sky.  Then  he 
turned  to  Crammon.  He  saw,  as  though  he  had  never  seen 
it  before,  that  Crammon's  cheeks  were  rather  fat,  and  that 
his  chin  was  bedded  in  soft  flesh  and  had  a  dimple.  He  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  answer.  He  smiled,  and  crossed 
his  legs! 

What  shapely  legs,  Crammon  thought  and  sighed,  what 
superb  legs! 

ni 

A  few  days  later  Crammon  appeared  again  with  the  inten- 
tion of  testing  Christian. 

"  I  don't  like  your  condition,  my  dear  boy,"  he  began,  "  and 
I  won't  pretend  to  you  that  I  do.  It's  just  a  week  to-day  that 
we've  been  perishing  of  boredom  here.  I  grant  you  it's  a 
delightful  place  in  spring  and  summer  with  agreeable  com- 
panions, when  one  can  have  picnics  in  the  open  and  think  of 
the  dull  and  seething  cities.  But  now  in  the  midst  of  winter, 
without  orgies  or  movement  or  women — what  is  the  use  of  it? 


146          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Why  do  you  hide  yourself?  Why  do  you  act  depressed?  What 
are  you  waiting  for?  What  have  you  in  mind?  " 

"  You  ask  so  many  questions,  Bernard,"  Christian  replied. 
"  You  should  not  do  that.  It  is  as  well  here  as  elsewhere. 
Can  you  tell  me  any  place  where  it  is  better?  " 

The  last  question  aroused  Crammon's  hopes.  In  the 
expectation  of  common  pleasures  his  face  grew  cheerful. 
"  A  better  place?  My  dearest  boy,  any  compartment  in 
a  train  is  better.  The  greasy  reception  room  of  Madame 
Simchowitz  in  Mannheim  is  better.  However,  we  shall 
be  able  to  agree.  Here  is  an  admirable  plan.  Palermo, 
Conca  d'Oro,  Monte  Pellegrino,  and  Sicilian  girls  with 
avid  glances  behind  their  virtuous  veils.  From  there 
we  shall  take  a  flying  trip  to  Naples  to  see  my  sweet  little 
friend  Yvonne.  She  has  the  blackest  hair,  the  whitest  teeth, 
and  the  most  exquisite  little  feet  in  Europe.  The  regions 
between  are — sublime.  Then  we  can  send  a  telegram  to  Pros- 
per Madruzzi,  who  is  nursing  his  spleen  in  his  Venetian  villa, 
and  let  him  introduce  us  into  the  most  inaccessible  circles  of 
Roman  society.  There  one  has  dealings  exclusively  with 
contessas,  marchesas,  and  principessas.  The  striking  charac- 
ters of  all  five  continents  swarm  there  as  in  a  fascinating  mad- 
house; cold-blooded  American  women  commit  indiscretions 
with  passionate  lazzaroni,  who  have  magical  names  and  impos- 
sible silk  socks ;  every  kennel  there  can  claim  to  be  a  curiosity, 
every  heap  of  stones  adds  to  your  culture,  at  every  step  you 
stumble  over  some  masterpiece  of  art." 

Christian  shook  his  head.    "  It  doesn't  tempt  me,"  he  said. 

"  Then  I'll  propose  something  else,"  Crammon  said.  "  Go 
with  me  to  Vienna.  It  is  a  city  worthy  of  your  interest.  Have 
you  ever  heard  of  the  Messiah?  The  Messiah  is  a  person  at 
whose  coming  the  Jews  believe  time  will  come  to  an  end,  and 
whom  they  expect  to  welcome  with  the  sound  of  shawms  and 
cymbals.  It  is  thus  that  every  distinguished  stranger  is  greeted 
in  Vienna.  If  you  cultivate  an  air  of  mystery,  and  are  not 


THE    SILVER    CORD  147 

too  stingy  in  the  matter  of  tipping,  and  occasionally  snub 
some  one  who  is  unduly  familiar — all  Viennese  society  will  be 
at  your  feet.  A  pleasant  moral  slackness  rules  the  city. 
Everything  that  is  forbidden  is  permitted.  The  women  are 
simply  hors  concours;  the  broiled  meat  at  Sacher  is  incom- 
parable; the  waltzes  which  you  hear  whenever  a  musician 
takes  up  a  fiddle  are  thrilling;  a  trip  to  the  Little  House 
of  Delight — name  to  be  taken  literally,  please — is  a  dream. 
I  yearn  for  it  all  myself — the  ingratiating  air,  the  roast  chicken, 
the  apple-pudding  with  whipped  cream,  and  my  own  little  hut 
full  of  furniture  of  the  age  of  Maria  Theresa,  and  my  two  dear, 
old  ladies.  Pull  yourself  together,  and  come  with  me." 

Christian  shook  his  head.    "  It  is  nothing  for  me,"  he  said. 

A  flush  of  indignation  spread  over  Crammon's  face.  "  Noth- 
ing for  you?  Very  well.  I  cannot  place  the  harem  of  the 
Sultan  at  your  disposal,  nor  the  gardens  promised  by  the 
Prophet.  I  shall  leave  you  to  your  fate,  and  wander  out  into 
the  world." 

Christian  laughed,  for  he  did  not  believe  him.  On  the  next 
day,  however,  Crammon  said  farewell  with  every  sign  of  deep 
grief,  and  departed. 

IV 

Christian  remained  at  his  country  house.  A  heavy  snow- 
fall came,  and  the  year  drew  toward  its  end. 

He  received  no  visitors.  He  answered  neither  the  letters 
nor  the  invitations  of  his  friends.  He  was  to  have  spent  Christ- 
mas with  his  parents  at  the  castle,  but  he  begged  them  to 
excuse  him. 

Since  he  was  of  age,  Christian's  Rest  had  now  passed  fully 
into  his  possession,  and  all  his  objects  of  art  were  gathered 
here — statuary,  pictures,  miniatures,  and  his  collection  of  snuff- 
boxes. He  loved  these  little  boxes  very  much. 

The  dealers  sent  him  their  catalogues.  He  had  a  trusted 
agent  at  every  notable  auction  sale.  To  this  man  he  would 


148         THE  WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

i 
telegraph  his  orders,  and  the  things  would  arrive — a  beaker 

of  mountain  crystal,  a  set  of  Dresden  porcelains,  a  charcoal 
sketch  by  Van  Gogh.  But  when  he  looked  at  his  purchases, 
he  was  disappointed.  They  seemed  neither  as  rare  nor  as 
precious  as  he  had  hoped. 

He  bought  a  sixteenth  century  Bible,  printed  on  parch- 
ment, with  mani-coloured  initials  and  a  cover  with  silver  clasps. 
It  had  cost  him  fourteen  thousand  marks,  and  contained  the 
book-plate  of  the  Elector  Augustus  of  Saxony.  Curiously  he 
turned  the  pages  without  regarding  the  words,  which  were 
alien  and  meaningless  to  him.  Nothing  delighted  him  but  his 
consciousness  of  the  rarity  and  preciousness  of  the  volume. 
But  he  desired  other  things  even  rarer  and  more  precious. 

Every  morning  he  fed  the  birds.  With  a  little  basket  of 
bread  crumbs  he  would  issue  from  the  door,  and  the  birds 
would  fly  to  him  from  all  directions,  for  they  had  come  to 
know  both  him  and  the  hour.  They  were  hungry,  and  he 
watched  them  busy  at  their  little  meal.  And  doing  this  he 
forgot  his  desires. 

Once  he  donned  his  shooting  suit,  and  went  out  and  shot 
a  hare.  When  the  animal  lay  before  him,  and  he  saw  its 
dying  eyes,  he  could  not  bear  to  touch  it.  He  who  had  hunted 
and  killed  many,  animals  could  no  longer  endure  this  sport, 
and  left  his  booty  a  prey  to  the  ravens. 

Most  of  his  walks  led  him  through  the  village,  which  was 
but  fifteen  minutes  from  his  park.  At  the  end  of  the  village, 
on  the  high-road,  stood  the  forester's  house.  Several  times 
he  had  noticed  at  one  of  its  windows  the  face  of  a  young  man, 
whose  features  he  seemed  to  recall.  He  thought  it  must  be 
Amadeus  Voss,  the  forester's  son.  When  he  was  but  six  he  had 
often  visited  that  house.  Christian's  Rest  had  not  been  built 
until  later,  and  in  those  early  years  his  father  had  rented  the 
game  preserve  here  and  had  often  lodged  for  some  days 
at  the  forester's.  And  Amadeus  had  been  Christian's  play- 
mate. 


THESILVERCORD  149 

The  face,  which  recalled  his  childhood  to  him,  was  pallid  and 
hollow-cheeked.  The  lips  were  thin  and  straight,  and  the 
head  covered  with  simple  very  light  blond  hair.  The  reflection 
of  the  light's  rays  in  the  powerful  lenses  of  spectacles  made 
the  face  seem  eyeless. 

It  amazed  Christian  that  this  young  man  should  sit  there 
for  hours,  day  after  day,  without  moving,  and  gaze  through  the 
window-panes  into  the  street.  The  secret  he  felt  here  stirred 
him,  and  a  power  from  some  depth  seemed  to  reach  out  for 
him. 

One  day  Christian  met  the  mayor  of  the  village  at  the 
gate  of  his  park.  Christian  stopped  him.  "  Tell  me,"  he  said, 
"  is  the  forester  Voss  still  alive?  " 

"  No,  he  died  three  years  ago,"  the  man  answered.  "  But 
his  widow  still  lives  in  the  house.  The  present  forester  is 
unmarried,  and  lets  her  have  a  few  rooms.  I  suppose  you  are 
asking  on  account  of  Amadeus,  who  has  suddenly  turned  up 
for  some  strange  reason — " 

"  Tell  me  about  him,"  Christian  asked. 

"  He  was  to  have  been  a  priest,  and  was  sent  to  the  seminary 
at  Bamberg.  One  heard  nothing  but  good  of  him  there,  and 
his  teachers  praised  him  to  the  sky.  He  got  stipends  and  schol- 
arships, and  every  one  expected  him  to  do  well  for  himself. 
Last  winter  his  superiors  got  him  a  position  as  tutor  to 
the  boys  of  the  bank  president,  Privy  Councillor  Ribbeck. 
You're  familiar  with  the  name.  Very  big  man.  The  two  boys 
whose  education  Voss  was  to  supervise  lived  at  Halbertsroda, 
an  estate  in  Upper  Franconia,  and  the  parents  didn't  visit  them 
very  often.  They  say  the  marriage  isn't  a  happy  one.  Well, 
everything  seemed  turning  out  well.  Considering  his  gifts  and 
the  patron  he  had  now,  Amadeus  couldn't  have  wanted  for 
anything.  Suddenly  he  drops  down  on  us  here,  doesn't  budge 
from  the  house,  pays  no  attention  to  any  one,  becomes  a  burden 
to  his  poor  old  mother,  and  growls  like  a  dog  at  any  one  who 
talks  to  him.  There  must  have  been  crazy  doings  at  Halberts- 


150          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

roda.  No  one  knows  any  details,  you  know.  But  every  now 
and  then  the  pot  seethes  over,  and  then  you  get  the  rumour  that 
there  was  something  between  him  and  the  Privy  Councillor's 
wife." 

The  man  was  very  talkative,  and  Christian  interrupted  him 
at  last.  "  Didn't  the  forester  have  another  son?  "  A  faint 
memory  of  some  experience  of  his  childhood  arose  in 
'him. 

"  Quite  right,"  said  the  mayor.  "  There  was  another  son. 
His  name  was  Dietrich,  and  he  was  a  deaf-mute." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  now,"  Christian  said. 

"  He  died  at  fourteen,"  the  mayor  went  on.  "  His  death  was 
never  properly  explained.  There  was  a  celebration  of  the 
anniversary  of  the  battle  of  Sedan,  and  he  went  out  in  the 
evening  to  look  at  the  bonfires.  Next  morning  they  found  his 
body  in  the  fish-pond." 

"  Did  he  drown?  " 

"  He  must  have,"  answered  the  mayor. 

Christian  nodded  farewell,  and  went  slowly  through  the  gate 
toward  his  house. 


Letitia  and  her  husband  were  in  the  opera  house  at  Buenos 
Ayres.  The  operetta  of  the  evening  was  as  shallow  as  a  puddle 
left  by  the  rain  in  the  pampas. 

In  the  box  next  to  theirs  sat  a  young  man,  and  Letitia 
yielded  now  and  then  to  the  temptation  of  observing  his  glances 
of  admiration.  Suddenly  she  felt  her  arm  roughly  grasped. 
It  was  Stephen  who  commanded  her  silently  to  follow  him. 

In  the  dim  corridor  he  brought  his  bluish-white  face  close 
to  her  ear,  and  hissed:  •"  If  you  look  at  that  fool  once  more, 
111  plunge  my  dagger  into  your  heart.  I  give  you  this  warn- 
ing. In  this  country  one  doesn't  shilly-shally." 

They  returned  to  their  box.  Stephen  smiled  with  a  smile 
as  glittering  as  a  torero's,  and  put  a  piece  of  chocolate  into 


THE    SILVER   CORD  151 

his  mouth.  Letitia  looked  at  him  sidewise,  and  wondered 
whether  he  really  had  a  dagger  in  his  possession. 

That  night,  when  they  drove  home,  he  almost  smothered 
her  with  his  caresses.  She  repulsed  him  gently,  and  begged: 
"  Show  me  the  dagger,  Stephen.  Give  it  to  me!  I  want  so 
much  to  see  it." 

"  What  dagger,  silly  child?  "  he  asked,  in  astonishment. 

"  The  dagger  you  were  going  to  plunge  into  my  heart." 

"  Let  that  be,"  he  answered,  in  hollow  tones.  "  This  is  no 
time  to  speak  of  daggers  and  death." 

But  Letitia  was  stubborn.  She  insisted  that  she  wanted  to 
see  it.  He  took  his  hands  from  her,  and  fell  into  sombre 
silence. 

The  incident  taught  Letitia  that  she  could  play  with  him. 
She  no  longer  feared  that  sombre  stillness  of  his,  nor  his  great 
skull  on  his  powerful  neck,  nor  the  thin  mouth,  nor  the  paling 
face,  nor  the  great  strength  of  his  extraordinary  small  hands. 
She  knew  that  she  could  play  with  him. 

Great  fire-flies  flew  through  the  air,  and  settled  in  the  grass 
about  them.  When  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  villa,  Letitia 
looked  around  with  a  cry  of  delight.  Sparks  seemed  to  be  fall- 
ing in  a  golden  rain.  The  gleaming  insects  whirred  about  the 
windows,  the  roof,  the  flowery  creepers  on  the  walls.  They 
penetrated  into  the  hall. 

Letitia  stopped  at  the  dark  foot  of  the  stairs,  looked  at  the 
phosphorescent  glimmer,  and  asked  fearfully  and  with  an 
almost  imperceptible  self-mockery  in  her  deep  voice:  "  Tell 
me,  Stephen,  couldn't  they  .set  the  house  on  fire?  " 

The  Negro  Scipio,  who  appeared  with  a  lamp  at  the  door, 
heard  her  words  and  grinned. 

VI 

Around  Twelfth  Night  Randolph  von  Stettner  with  several 
friends  came  to  Christian's  Rest.  The  young  men  had  called 
up  Christian  by  telephone,  and  he  had  been  alone  so  long 


152          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

that  he  was  glad  to  receive  them  and  be  their  host.  He  was 
always  glad  to  see  Randolph.  The  latter  brought  with  him 
two  comrades,  a  Baron  Forbach  and  a  Captain  von  Griesingen, 
and  also  another  friend,  a  young  university  teacher,  who  was 
fulfilling  his  required  military  service  at  Bonn  and  was  there- 
fore also  in  uniform.  Christian  had  met  him  before  at  a  cele- 
bration of  the  Borussia  fraternity. 

A  delicious  meal  was  served,  followed  by  excellent  cigars 
and  liqueurs. 

"  It  is  consoling  to  see  that  you  still  don't  despise  the  com- 
forts of  the  flesh,"  Randolph  von  Stettner  said  to  Christian. 

Captain  von  Griesingen  sighed:  "  How  should  one  despise 
them?  They  torment  us  and  they  flit  temptingly  about  us! 
Think  of  all  that  is  desirable  in  the  world — women,  horses, 
wine,  power,  fame,  money,  love!  There  is  a  dealer  of  jewels 
in  Frankfort,  named  David  Markuse,  who  has  a  diamond 
that  is  said  to  be  worth  half  a  million.  I  have  no  desire  for 
that  special  object.  But  the  world  is  full  of  things  that  are 
possessed  and  give  delight." 

"  It  is  the  diamond  known  as  Ignifer,"  Dr.  Leonrod  re- 
marked, "  a  sort  of  adventurer  among  precious  stones." 

"  Ignifer  is  an  appropriate  name  for  a  diamond,"  said  Ran- 
dolph. "  But  why  do  you  speak  of  it  so  gravely?  What,  except 
its  price,  makes  it  differ  from  other  stones?  Has  it  had  so 
strange  a  fate?  " 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  Dr.  Leonrod,  "  most  strange.  I  hap- 
pen to  know  the  details  because,  as  a  professional  mineralogist, 
I  take  a  certain  interest  in  precious  stones,  too." 

"  Do  tell  us  about  it!  "  the  young  officers  cried. 
"  Whoever  buys  Ignifer,"  Dr.  Leonrod  began,  "  will  show  no 
little  courage.  The  jewel  is  a  tragic  thing.  It  has  been  proved 
that  its  first  owner  was  Madame  de  Montespan.  No  sooner 
did  it  come  into  her  possession  than  the  king  dismissed  her. 
Marie  Antoinette  owned  it  next.  It  weighed  ninety-five  carats 
at  that  time.  But  during  the  Revolution  it  was  stolen  and 


THE    SILVER   CORD  153 

divided,  and  did  not  reappear  until  fifty  years  later.  The 
recovered  stone  weighed  sixty  carats.  An  Englishman,  named 
Thomas  Horst,  bought  it,  and  was  soon  murdered.  The  heirs 
sold  it  to  an  American.  The  lady  who  wore  it,  a  Mrs.  Malm- 
cote,  was  throttled  by  a  madman  at  a  ball.  Then  Prince 
Alexander  Tshernitsheff  brought  it  to  Russia,  and  gave  it  to 
an  actress  who  was  his  mistress.  Another  lover  shot  and  killed 
her  on  the  stage.  The  prince  was  blown  to  pieces  by  a  nihilist. 
Then  the  stone  was  brought  to  Paris,  and  purchased  by  the 
Sultan  Abdul  Hamid  for  his  favourite  wife.  The  woman  was 
poisoned,  and  you  all  know  what  happened  to  the  Sultan. 
After  the  Turkish  Revolution  Ignifer  drifted  West  again,  and 
then  back  to  the  Orient.  For  its  new  owner,  Tavernier, 
took  a  voyage  to  India,  and  was  shipwrecked  and  drowned. 
For  a  time  it  was  thought  that  the  diamond  was  lost.  But 
that  was  an  error;  it  had  been  deposited  in  a  safety  vault  in 
a  Calcutta  bank.  Now  it  is  back  in  Europe,  and  for  sale." 

"  The  stone  must  harbour  an  evil  spirit,"  said  Randolph. 
"  I  confess  that  I  have  no  desire  for  it.  I  am  very  little 
inclined  to  superstition;  but  when  the  facts  are  as  compelling 
as  in  this  case,  the  most  enlightened  scepticism  seems  rebuked." 

"  What  does  all  that  matter  if  the  stone  is  beautiful,  if  it 
really  is  incomparably  lovely?  "  Christian  cried,  with  a  defiant 
look,  that  yet  seemed  turned  inward  upon  his  soul.  After  this 
he  said  little,  even  when  the  conversation  drifted  to  other 
subjects. 

Next  day  at  noon  he  ordered  his  car  and  drove  in  to  Frank- 
fort to  the  shop  of  the  jeweller  David  Markuse. 

VII 

Herr  Markuse  knew  Christian. 

Ignifer  was  kept  in  the  safe  of  a  fire-proof  and  burglar-proof 
vault.  Herr  Markuse  lifted  the  stone  out  of  its  case,  laid  it 
upon  the  green  cloth  of  a  table,  stepped  aside,  and  looked  at 
Christian. 


154          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Christian  looked  silently  at  the  concentrated  radiance  of  the 
stone.  His  thought  was:  This  is  the  rarest  and  costliest  thing 
in  the  world;  nothing  can  surpass  it.  And  it  was  immediately 
clear  to  him  that  he  must  own  the  jewel. 

The  diamond  had  the  faintest  tinge  of  yellow.  It  had 
been  cut  so  that  it  had  many  rich  facets.  A  little  groove 
had  been  cut  into  it  near  one  end,  so  that  a  woman  could 
wear  it  around  her  neck  by  a  thin  chain  or  a  silken 
cord. 

Herr  Markuse  lifted  it  upon  a  sheet  of  white  paper  and 
breathed  upon  it.  "  It  is  not  of  the  first  water,"  he  said, 
"  but  it  has  neither  rust  nor  knots.  There  is  no  trace  of  veins 
or  cracks,  no  cloudiness  or  nodules.  Not  a  flaw.  The  stone 
is  one  of  nature's  miracles." 

The  price  was  five  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  marks.  Chris- 
tian offered  the  half  million.  Herr  Markuse  consulted  his 
watch.  "  I  promised  a  lady  that  I  would  hold  it,"  he  declared. 
"  But  the  promised  hour  is  past."  They  agreed  upon  five  hun- 
dred and  twenty  thousand  marks.  Half  was  to  be  paid  in 
cash,  the  other  in  two  notes  running  for  different  periods. 
"  The  name  of  Wahnschaffe  is  sufficient  guarantee,"  the  mer- 
chant said. 

Christian  weighed  the  diamond  in  his  hand,  and  laid  it 
down  again. 

David  Markuse  smiled.  "  In  my  business  one  learns  how 
to  judge  people,"  he  said  without  any  familiarity.  "  You  are 
making  this  purchase  with  a  deeper  intention  than  you  yourself 
are  probably  conscious  of.  The  soul  of  the  diamond  has  lured 
you  on.  For  the  diamond  has  a  soul." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that?  "    Christian  was  surprised. 

"  I  know  it.  There  are  people  who  lose  all  shame  when 
they  see  a  beautiful  jewel.  Their  nostrils  quiver,  their  cheeks 
grow  pale,  their  hands  tremble  uncertainly,  their  pupils  expand, 
and  they  betray  themselves  by  every  motion.  Others  are 
intimidated,  or  bereft  of  their  senses,  or  saddened.  You  gain 


THE    SILVER    CORD  155 

curious  insights  into  human  nature.  The  masks  drop.  Dia- 
monds make  people  transparent." 

The  indiscreet  turn  of  the  conversation  irritated  Christian. 
But  he  had  often  before  become  aware  of  the  fact  that  some- 
thing in  him  seemed  to  invite  the  communicativeness  and  con- 
fidence of  others.  He  arose,  and  promised  to  return  that 
evening. 

"  The  lady  of  whom  I  was  speaking,"  Markuse  continued, 
as  he  accompanied  him  to  the  door,  "  and  who  was  here  yester- 
day, is  a  very  wonderful  lady.  When  she  came  in,  I  thought: 
is  it  possible  for  mere  walking  to  be  so  beautiful?  Well,  I  soon 
found  out  that  she  is  a  famous  dancer.  She  is  stopping  at  the 
Palace  Hotel  for  a  day,  on  her  way  from  Paris  to  Russia, 
merely  in  order  to  see  Ignifer.  I  showed  her  the  stone.  She 
stood  looking  at  it  for  at  least  five  minutes.  She  did  not  move, 
and  the  expression  of  her  face!  Well,  if  the  jewel  didn't  repre- 
sent a  large  part  of  all  I  have  in  the  world,  I  would  have  begged 
her  simply  to  keep  it.  Such  moments  are  not  exactly  frequent 
in  my  business.  She  was  to  have  returned  to-day,  but,  as  I 
have  told  you,  she  didn't  keep  her  engagement." 

"  And  you  don't  know  her  name?  "  Christian  asked,  shyly. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Her  name  is  Eva  Sorel.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
her?  " 

The  blood  came  into  Christian's  face.  He  let  go  the  knob 
of  the  door.  "  Eva  Sorel  is  here?  "  he  murmured.  He  pulled 
himself  together,  and  opened  the  door  to  an  empty  room 
that  was  carpeted  in  red,  and  the  walls  of  which  were  hidden 
by  ebony  cases.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  the  opposite  door 
was  thrown  open;  and,  followed  by  four  gentlemen,  Eva  Sorel 
crossed  the  threshold. 

Christian  stood  perfectly  still. 

"  Eidolon!  "  Eva  cried,  and  she  folded  her  hands  in  that 
inimitably  enthusiastic  and  happy  gesture  of  hers. 


156          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

vm 

Christian  did  not  know  the  gentlemen  who  were  with  her. 
Their  features  and  garments  showed  them  to  be  foreigners. 
Accustomed  to  surprising  events  in  Eva's  daily  life,  they 
regarded  Christian  with  cool  curiosity. 

Eva's  whole  form  was  wrapped  in  a  grey  mole-skin  coat. 
Her  fur  cap  was  trimmed  with  an  aigrette  of  herons'  feathers, 
held  by  a  marvellous  ruby  clasp.  From  under  the  cap  her 
honey-coloured  hair  struggled  forth.  The  wintry  air  had  given 
her  skin  an  exquisite  delicate  tinge  of  pink. 

With  a  few  steps  she  came  stormily  to  Christian,  and  her 
white  gloved  hands  sought  both  of  his.  Her  great  and  flaming 
looks  drove  his  conscious  joy  and  his  perceptions  of  her  pres- 
ence back  upon  his  soul,  and  fear  appeared  upon  his  features. 
He  found  himself  as  defenceless  as  a  ball  flung  by  another's 
hand.  He  awaited  his  goal. 

"  Did  you  buy  Ignifer?  "  That  was  her  first  question.  Since 
he  was  silent,  she  turned  with  raised  brows  to  David  Markuse. 

The  merchant  bowed  and  said:  "  I  thought  that  I  could  no 
longer  count  on  you,  Madame.  I  am  sorry  with  all  my  heart." 

"  You  are  right.  I  hesitated  too  long."  Eva  spoke  her 
melodious  German,  with  its  slightly  foreign  intonation.  Turn- 
ing to  Christian  she  went  on:  "  Perhaps  it  makes  no  difference, 
Eidolon,  whether  you  have  it  or  I.  It  is  like  a  heart  that 
ambition  has  turned  to  crystal.  But  you  are  not  ambitious. 
If  you  were,  we  should  have  met  here  like  two  birds  swept 
by  a  storm  into  the  same  cave.  The  preciousness  of  the  stone 
almost  makes  it  ghostly  to  me,  and  I  would  permit  no  one  to 
give  it  to  me  who  was  not  conscious  of  its  significance.  And 
who  is  there?  What  do  they  give  one?  Wares  from  a  shop, 
that  is  all." 

David  Markuse  looked  at  her  in  admiration,  and  nodded. 

"  It  is  said  to  bring  misfortune  to  its  possessors,"  Christian 
almost  whispered. 


THE    SILVER   CORD  157 

"  Do  you  intend  to  test  yourself,  Eidolon,  and  put  it  to  the 
proof?  Will  you  challenge  the  demon  to  prevail  against  you? 
Ah,  that  is  what  allured  me,  too.  Its  name  made  me  envious. 
As  I  held  it,  it  seemed  like  the  navel  of  Buddha,  from  which 
one  cannot  divert  one's  thought,  if  one  has  once  seen  it." 

She  noticed  that  the  people  about  them  seemed  to  make 
Christian  hesitate,  so  she  took  his  arm,  and  drew  him  behind 
the  curtains  of  a  window-niche. 

"  That  it  brings  misfortune  to  people  is  certain,"  Christian 
repeated  mechanically.  "  How  can  I  keep  it,  Eva,  since  you 
desired  it?" 

"  Keep  it  and  break  the  evil  spell,"  Eva  answered,  and 
laughed.  But  his  seriousness  remained  unchanged;  and  she 
apologized  for  her  laughter  by  a  gesture,  as  though  she  were 
throwing  aside  the  undue  lightness  of  her  mood.  She  watched 
him  silently.  In  the  sharp  light  reflected  from  the  snow,  her 
eyes  were  green  as  malachite.  "  What  are  you  doing  with 
yourself?  "  she  asked.  "  Your  eyes  look  lonesome." 

"  I  have  been  living  rather  alone  for  some  time,"  answered 
Christian.  His  utterances  were  dry  and  precise.  "  Crammon 
too  has  left  me." 

"  Ivan  Becker  wrote  me  about  you,"  Eva  said  in  muffled 
tones.  "  I  kissed  the  letter.  I  carried  it  in  my  bosom,  and 
said  the  words  of  it  over  to  myself.  Is  there  such  a  thing  as 
an  awakening?  Can  the  soul  emerge  from  the  darkness,  as  a 
flower  does  from  the  bulb?  But  there  you  stand  in  your  pride, 
and  do  not  move.  Speak!  Our  time  is  short." 

"  Why  speak  at  all?  " 

Although  his  eyes  seemed  so  unseeing,  it  did  not  escape  him 
that  Eva's  face  had  changed.  A  new  severity  was  on  it,  and 
a  heightened  will  controlled  its  nerves,  even  to  the  raising  and 
lowering  of  her  long  lashes.  Experience  of  men  and  things 
had  lent  it  an  austere  radiance,  and  her  unbounded  mastery 
over  them  a  breath  of  grandeur. 

"  I  had  not  forgotten  that  this  is  the  city  where  you  dwell," 


158          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

she  said,  "  but  in  these  driven  hours  there  was  no  place  for 
you.  They  count  my  steps,  and  lie  in  wait  for  the  end  of  my 
sleeping.  What  I  should  have  is  either  a  prison  or  a  friend 
unselfish  enough  to  force  me  to  be  more  frugal  of  myself.  In 
Lisbon  the  queen  gave  me  a  beautiful  big  dog,  who  was  so 
devoted  to  me  that  I  felt  it  in  my  very  body.  A  week  later 
he  was  found  poisoned  at  the  gate  of  the  garden.  I  could  have 
put  on  mourning  for  him.  How  silent  and  watchful  he  was, 
and  how  he  could  love!  "  She  raised  her  shoulders  with  a  little 
shiver,  dropped  them  again,  and  continued  with  hurry  in  her 
voice.  "  I  shall  summon  you  some  day.  Will  you  come?  Will 
you  be  ready?  " 

"  I  shall  come,"  Christian  answered  very  simply,  but  his 
heart  throbbed. 

"  Is  your  feeling  for  me  the  same — changeless  and  unchange- 
able? "  In  her  look  there  was  an  indescribably  lyrical  lift, 
and  her  body,  moved  by  its  spirit,  seemed  to  emerge  from 
veils. 

He  only  bowed  his  head. 

"  And  how  is  it  in  the  matter  of  cortesia?  "  She  came  nearer 
to  him,  so  that  he  felt  her  breath  on  his  lips.  "  He  smiles," 
she  exclaimed,  and  her  lips  opened,  showing  her  teeth,  "  instead 
of  just  once  throwing  himself  on  his  knees  in  rage  or  jubilation 
— he  smiles.  Take  care,  you  with  your  smile,  that  I  am  not 
tempted  to  extinguish  your  smiling  some  day."  She  stripped 
the  glove  from  her  right  hand,  and  gave  the  naked  hand  to 
Christian,  who  touched  it  with  his  lips.  "  It  is  a  compact, 
Eidolon,"  she  said  serenely  now,  and  with  an  air  of  seduction, 
"  and  you  will  be  ready."  Emerging  from  the  niche,  she  turned 
to  the  gentlemen  who  had  come  with  her,  and  who  had  been 
holding  whispered  conversations:  "  Messieurs,  nous  sommes 
bien  presses." 

She  inclined  her  head  to  the  jeweller,  and  the  heron  feathers 
trembled.  The  four  gentlemen  let  her  precede  them  swiftly, 
and  followed  her  silently  and  reverently. 


THE    SILVER    CORD  159 

DC 

When  next  Christian  went  through  the  village  and  saw 
Amadeus  Voss  at  the  window,  he  stopped. 

Voss  got  up  suddenly  and  opened  the  window,  and  there- 
upon Christian  approached. 

It  was  a  time  of  thaw.  The  water  dripped  from  the  roofs 
and  gutters.  Christian  felt  the  moist  air  swept  by  tepid  winds 
as  something  that  gives  pain. 

Behind  the  powerful  lenses  the  eyes  of  Amadeus  Voss  had  a 
yellowish  glitter.  "  We  must  be  old  acquaintances,"  he  said, 
"  although  it  is  very  long  ago  since  we  hunted  blackberries 
among  the  hedges.  Very  long."  He  laughed  a  little  weakly. 

Christian  had  determined  to  lead  the  conversation  to  the 
dead  brother  of  Amadeus.  There  was  that  event  in  the  mist 
of  the  past  concerning  which  he  could  gain  no  clearness,  much 
as  he  might  reflect. 

"  I  suppose  everybody  is  wondering  about  me,"  Voss  said, 
in  the  tone  of  one  who  would  like  to  know  what  people  are 
saying.  "  I  seem  to  be  a  stumbling-block  to  them.  Don't 
you  think  so?  " 

"  I  mustn't  presume  to  judge,"  Christian  said,  guardedly. 

"  With  what  an  expression  you  say  that!  "  Voss  murmured, 
and  looked  Christian  all  over.  "  How  proud  you  are.  Yet  it 
must  have  been  curiosity  that  made  you  stop." 

Christian  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Do  you  remember  an 
incident  that  took  place  when  I  stayed  here  with  my  father?  " 
he  asked  gently  and  courteously. 

"  What  kind  of  an  incident?  I  don't  know.  Or — but  wait! 
Do  you  mean  that  affair  of  the  pig?  When  they  killed  the 
pig  over  there  in  the  inn,  and  I " 

"  Quite  right.  That  was  it,"  Christian  said  with  a  faint 
smile.  He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  the  scene  and  the  incident 
appeared  with  unwonted  clarity  before  his  mind. 

He  and  Amadeus  and  the  deaf  and  dumb  Dietrich  had  been 


160         THE  WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

standing  at  the  gate.  And  the  pig  had  begun  to  scream.  At 
that  moment  Amadeus  had  stretched  out  his  arms,  and  held 
them  convulsively  trembling  in  the  air.  The  long,  loud,  and 
piercing  cry  of  the  beast's  death  agony  had  been  something 
new  and  dreadful  to  Christian  too,  and  had  drawn  him  running 
to  the  spot  whence  it  came.  He  saw  the  gleaming  knife,  the 
uplifted  and  then  descending  arm  of  the  butcher,  the  struggle 
of  the  short,  bristly  legs,  and  the  quivering  and  writhing  of  the 
victim's  body.  The  lips  of  Amadeus,  who  had  reeled  after 
him,  had  been  flecked  with  foam,  and  he  pointed  and  moaned: 
"Blood,  blood!  "  And  Christian  had  seen  the  blood  on  the 
earth,  on  the  knife,  on  the  white  apron  of  the  man.  He  did 
not  know  what  happened  next.  But  Amadeus  knew. 

He  said:  "  When  the  pig  screamed,  a  convulsive  rigour  fell 
upon  me.  For  many  hours  I  lay  stiff  as  a  log.  My  parents 
were  badly  frightened,  for  I  had  never  had  any  such  attacks 
before.  What  you  remember  is  probably  how  they  tried  to 
cheer  me  or  shame  me  out  of  my  collapse.  They  walked  into 
the  puddle  of  blood  and  stamped  about  in  it  so  that  the  blood 
spurted.  My  dumb  brother  noticed  that  this  only  increased 
my  excitement.  He  made  noises  in  his  throat,  and  raised  his 
hands  beseechingly,  while  my  mother  was  hastening  from  the 
house.  At  that  moment  you  struck  him  in  the  face  with  your 
fist." 

"It  is  true.  I  struck  him,"  said  Christian,  and  his  face 
became  very  pale. 

"  And  why?  Why  did  you  do  that?  We  haven't  met  since 
that  day,  and  we've  only  seen  each  other  from  afar.  That  is, 
I've  seen  you.  You  were  far  too  proud  and  too  busy  with  your 
friends  to  see  me.  But  why  did  you  strike  Dietrich  that  day? 
He  had  a  sort  of  silent  adoration  of  you.  He  followed  you 
about  everywhere.  Don't  you  remember?  We  often  laughed 
about  it.  But  from  that  day  on  he  was  changed — mark- 
edly so." 

"  I  believe  I  hated  him  at  that  moment,"  Christian  said, 


THE    SILVER   CORD  161 

reflectively.  "  I  hated  him  because  he  could  neither  hear  nor 
speak.  It  struck  me  as  a  sort  of  malevolent  stubbornness." 

"  Strange!    It's  strange  that  you  should  have  felt  so." 

They  both  became  silent.  Christian  started  to  leave.  Voss 
rested  his  arms  on  the  window  ledge  and  leaned  far  out. 
"  There's  a  paragraph  in  the  paper  saying  that  you've  bought 
a  diamond  for  half  a  million.  Is  that  true?  " 

"  It  is  true,"  Christian  replied. 

"  A  single  diamond  for  over  half  a  million?  I  thought  it 
was  merely  a  newspaper  yarn.  Is  the  diamond  to  be  seen? 
Would  you  show  it  to  me?  "  In  his  face  there  was  something 
of  horrified  revolt,  of  panting  desire,  but  also  of  mockery. 
Christian  was  startled. 

"  With  pleasure,  if  you'll  come  to  see  me,"  he  answered,  but 
determined  to  have  himself  denied  to  Voss  if  the  latter  really 
came. 

For  a  secret  stirred  him  again,  a  depth  opened  at  his  feet, 
an  arm  was  stretched  out  after  him. 


On  a  certain  night  Letitia  awoke  and  heard  dragging,  run- 
ning steps,  the  breathing  of  pursuers  and  pursued,  whispers 
and  hoarse  curses,  now  nearer,  now  farther.  She  sat  up  and 
listened.  Her  bed-chamber  opened  upon  gardens.  Its  doors 
led  to  the  verandah  that  surrounded  the  entire  house. 

Then  the  hurrying  steps  approached;  she  saw  forms  that 
detached  themselves  in  black  from  the  greenish  night  and  flit- 
ted by:  one,  and  then  another,  and  then  a  third,  and  after 
a  little  while  a  fourth.  She  was  frightened,  but  she  hated  to 
call  for  help.  To  rouse  Stephen,  who  slept  in  the  adjoining 
room,  was  a  risk  for  her,  as  it  was  for  every  one.  At  such  times 
he  would  roar  like  a  steer,  and  strike  out  wildly. 

Letitia  laughed  and  shuddered  at  the  thought. 

She  fought  her  fear,  got  up,  threw  on  a  dressing  gown,  and 
stepped  determinedly  on  the  verandah.  At  that  moment  thick 


162          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

clouds  parted  and  revealed  the  moon.  Surprised  by  the  unex- 
pected light,  the  four  forms  stopped  suddenly,  collided  against 
each  other,  and  stood  panting  and  staring. 

What  Letitia  saw  was  old  Gottlieb  Gunderam  and  his  three 
sons,  Riccardo,  Paolo,  and  Demetrios,  the  brothers  of  her  hus- 
band. There  was  an  unquenchable  distrust  between  this 
father  and  his  sons.  They  watched  and  lay  in  wait  for  each 
other.  If  there  was  cash  in  the  house,  the  old  man  did  not 
dare  go  to  bed,  and  each  of  the  brothers  accused  the  rest  of 
wanting  to  rob  their  father.  Letitia  knew  that  much.  But  it 
was  new  to  her  that  in  their  dumb  rage  and  malice  they  went 
so  far  as  to  chase  each  other  at  night,  each  pursuer  and  pursued 
at  once,  each  full  of  hatred  of  the  one  in  front  and  full  of  terror 
of  the  one  behind  him.  She  laughed  and  shuddered. 

The  old  man  was  the  first  to  slink  away.  He  dragged  him- 
self to  his  room,  and  threw  himself  on  the  bed  in  his  clothes. 
Beside  the  bed  stood  two  huge  travelling  boxes,  packed  and 
locked.  They  had  stood  thus  for  twenty  years.  Daily,  during 
all  that  period,  he  had  determined  at  least  once  to  flee  to  the 
house  in  Buenos  Ayres,  or  even  to  the  United  States,  when- 
ever the  conflict,  first  with  his  wife  and  later  with  his  sons, 
became  too  much  for  him.  He  had  never  started  on  that  flight ; 
but  the  boxes  stood  in  readiness. 

Silently  and  secretively  the  brothers  also  disappeared.  While 
Letitia  stood  on  the  verandah  and  looked  at  the  moon,  she 
heard  the  rattle  of  a  phonograph.  Riccardo  had  recently 
bought  it  in  the  city,  and  it  often  happened  that  he  set  it  to 
playing  at  night. 

Letitia  stepped  a  little  farther,  and  peered  into  the  room 
in  which  the  three  brothers  sat  with  sombre  faces  and  played 
poker.  The  phonograph  roared  a  vulgar  waltz  out  of  its  brazen 
throat. 

Then  Letitia  laughed  and  shuddered. 


THE   SILVER   CORD  163 

XI 

Christian  wondered  whether  Amadeus  would  come.  Two 
days  passed  in  slightly  depressing  suspense. 

He  had  really  intended  to  go  to  Waldleiningen  to  look  after 
his  horses.  Sometimes  he  could  actually  see  their  spirited  yet 
gentle  eyes,  their  velvet  coats,  and  that  fine  nervousness  that 
vibrated  between  dignity  and  restiveness.  He  recalled  with 
pleasure  the  very  odour  of  the  stables. 

The  pure  bred  Scotch  horse  which  he  had  bought  of  Denis 
Lay  was  to  run  in  the  spring  races.  His  grooms  told  him  that 
the  beautiful  animal  had  been  in  poor  form  for  some  weeks, 
and  he  thought  that  perhaps  it  missed  his  tender  hand.  Never- 
theless he  did  not  go  to  Waldleiningen. 

On  the  third  day  Amadeus  Voss  sent  a  gardener  to  ask 
whether  he  might  call  that  evening.  Instead  Christian  went 
down  to  the  forester's  house  that  afternoon  at  four,  and 
knocked  at  the  door. 

Voss  .looked  at  him  suspiciously.  With  the  instinct  of  the 
oppressed  classes  he  divined  the  fact  that  Christian  wanted  to 
keep  him  from  his  house.  But  Christian  was  far  from  being 
as  clear  about  his  own  motives  as  Amadeus  suspected.  He 
scented  a  danger.  Some  magic  in  it  drew  Mm  on  half-con- 
sciously  to  go  forth  to  meet  it. 

Looking  about  in  the  plain  but  clean  and  orderly  room 
Christian  saw  on  the  tinted  wall  above  the  bed  white  slips  of 
paper  on  which  verses  of  Scripture  had  been  copied  in  a  large 
hand.  One  was  this:  "  He  was  led  as  a  sheep  to  the  slaughter ; 
and  like  a  lamb  dumb  before  his  shearer,  so  opened  he  not  his 
mouth."  And  another  was  this:  "  For  it  is  a  day  of  trouble, 
and  of  treading  down,  and  of  perplexity  by  the  Lord  God  of 
hosts  in  the  valley  of  vision,  breaking  down  the  walls,  and 
of  crying  to  the  mountains."  And  this  other:  "  The  Lord  said 
unto  me,  Within  a  year,  within  the  years  of  an  hireling,  and 
all  the  glory  of  Kedar  shall  fail."  And  finally  there  was  this: 


164          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"I  know  thy  works,  that  thou  art  neither  cold  nor  hot;  I 
would  thou  were  cold  or  hot.  So  then  because  thou  art 
lukewarm,  and  neither  cold  or  hot,  I  will  spue  thee  out  of  my 
mouth." 

Christian  looked  at  Amadeus  Voss  long  and  curiously.  Then 
he  asked,  in  a  very  careful  voice,  and  yet  not  without  an 
inevitable  tinge  of  worldly  mockery:  "  Are  you  very  reli- 
gious? " 

Amadeus  frowned  and  answered:  "Whether  I  answer  one 
way  or  the  other  it  will  mean  equally  little  to  you.  Did  you 
come  to  cross-question  me?  Have  we  anything  in  common  that 
an  answer  to  that  question  could  reveal?  Amadeus  Voss  and 
Christian  Wahnschaffe — are  those  not  the  names  of  sundered 
poles?  What  image  is  there  that  could  express  the  differences 
that  divide  us?  Your  faith  and  mine!  And  such  things  are 
possible  on  the  same  earth!  " 

"  Was  your  youth  especially  hard?  "  Christian  asked,  inno- 
cently. 

Voss  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  looked  at  Christian  sidewise. 
"  D'you  know  what  meal  days  are?  Of  course  you  don't. 
Well,  on  such  days  you  get  your  meals  at  strangers'  houses 
who  feed  you  out  of  charity.  Each  day  of  the  week  you're 
with  another  family.  Each  week  repeats  the  last.  Not  to  be 
thought  ungrateful  you  must  be  obedient  and  modest.  Even 
if  your  stomach  revolts  at  some  dish,  you  must  pretend  it's 
a  delicacy.  If  the  grandfather  laughs,  you  must  laugh  too;  if 
an  uncle  thinks  he's  a  wit,  you  must  grin.  If  the  daughter  of 
the  house  chooses  to  be  insolent,  you  must  be  silent.  If  they 
respond  to  your  greeting,  it's  a  great  favour;  the  worn  over- 
coat with  ragged  lining  they  gave  you  when  winter  came  binds 
you  in  eternal  gratitude.  You  come  to  know  all  the  black 
moods  of  all  these  people  with  whom  you  sit  at  table,  all  their 
shop- worn  opinions,  their  phrases  and  hypocritical  expressions ; 
and  for  the  necessary  hour  of  each  day  you  must  learn  to 


THE    SILVER    CORD  165 

practise  its  special  kind  of  dissembling.  That  is  the  meaning 
of  meal  days." 

He  got  up,  walked  to  and  fro,  and  resumed  his  seat.  "  The 
devil  appeared  to  me  early,"  he  said  in  a  hollow  voice.  "  Per- 
haps I  took  a  certain  experience  of  my  childhood  more 
grievously  to  heart  than  others,  perhaps  the  poison  of  it  filtered 
deeper  into  me.  But  you  cannot  forget.  It  is  graven  upon 
my  soul  that  my  drunken  father  beat  my  mother.  He  did  it 
every  Saturday  night  with  religious  regularity.  That  image 
is  not  to  be  obliterated." 

Christian  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  face  of  Ama- 
deus. 

Softly,  and  with  a  rigid  glance,  Voss  continued:  "  One  night 
before  Easter,  when  I  was  eight  years  old,  he  beat  her  again. 
I  rushed  into  the  yard,  and  cried  out  to  the  neighbours  for 
help.  Then  I  looked  up  at  the  window,  and  I  saw  my  mother 
stand  there  wringing  her  hands  in  despair.  And  she  was 
naked."  And  his  voice  almost  died  into  silence  as  he  added: 
"  Who  is  it  that  dare  see  his  own  mother  naked?  " 

Again  he  arose  and  wandered  about  the  room.  He  was  so 
full  of  himself  that  his  speech  seemed  indeed  addressed  to  him- 
self alone.  "  Two  things  there  are  that  made  me  reflect  and 
wonder  even  in  my  childhood.  First,  the  very  many  poor 
creatures,  whom  my  father  reported  because  they  stole  a  little 
wood,  and  who  were  put  in  prison.  I  often  heard  some  poor, 
little  old  woman  or  some  ragged  half-starved  lad  beg  for 
mercy.  There  was  no  mercy  here.  My  father  was  the  forester, 
and  had  to  do  his  duty.  Secondly,  there  were  the  many  rich 
people  who  live  in  this  part  of  the  country  in  their  castles,  on 
their  estates,  in  their  hunting-lodges,  and  to  whom  nothing  is 
denied  that  their  wildest  impulses  demand.  Between  the  two 
one  stands  as  between  two  great  revolving  cylinders  of  steel. 
One  is  sure  to  be  crushed  to  bits  in  the  end." 

For  a  while  he  gazed  into  emptiness.  "  What  is  your  opinion 
of  an  informer?  "  he  asked,  suddenly. 


166          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Christian  answered  with  a  forced  smile:  "  It's  not  a  good 
one." 

"  Listen  to  me.  In  the  seminary  I  had  a  fellow-student 
named  Dippel.  His  gifts  were  moderate,  but  he  was  a  decent 
chap  and  a  hard  worker.  His  father  was  a  signalman  on  the 
railroad — one  of  the  very  poor,  and  his  son  was  his  one  hope 
and  pride.  Dippel  happened  to  be  acquainted  with  a  painter 
in  whose  studio  he  came  across  an  album  of  photographs  dis- 
playing the  female  form  in  plastic  poses.  The  adolescent  boy 
gazed  at  them  again  and  again,  and  finally  begged  the  painter 
to  lend  him  the  album.  Dippel  slept  in  my  dormitory.  I  was 
monitor,  and  I  soon  observed  the  crowding  and  the  sensuous 
atmosphere  about  Dippel,  who  had  shown  the  pictures  to  a 
few  friends.  It  was  like  a  spreading  wound.  I  went  into  the 
matter  and  ruthlessly  confiscated  the  pictures.  I  informed  the 
faculty.  Dippel  was  summoned,  sternly  examined,  and 
expelled.  Next  day  we  found  him  swinging  dead  from  the 
apple  tree." 

Christian's  face  flushed  hotly.  The  tone  of  equanimity  with 
which  it  was  recited  was  more  repulsive  than  the  story  itself. 

Amadeus  Voss  continued:  "  You  think  that  was  a  contempti- 
ble action.  But  according  to  the  principles  that  had  been 
impressed  on  us  I  was  merely  doing  my  duty.  I  was  sixteen; 
and  I  seemed  to  be,  and  was,  in  a  dark  hole.  I  needed  to  get 
out  to  the  air  and  light.  I  was  like  one  squeezed  in  by  a  great 
throng,  who  cannot  see  what  happens  beyond.  The  fumes  of 
impatience  throttled  me,  and  everything  in  me  cried  out  for 
space  and  light.  It  was  like  living  on  the  eternally  dark  side 
of  the  moon.  I  was  afraid  of  the  might  of  evil ;  and  all  that  I 
heard  of  men  was  more  or  less  evil.  The  scales  rose  and  fell 
in  my  breast.  There  are  hours  in  which  one  can  either  become 
a  murderer  or  die  on  the  cross.  I  yearned  for  the  world.  Yet  I 
prayed  much  in  those  days,  and  read  many  books  of  devotion, 
and  practised  cruel  penances.  Late  at  night,  when  all  others 
slept,  a  priest  found  me  absorbed  in  prayer  with  the  hair- 


THE    SILVER   CORD  167 

shirt  about  my  body.  During  mass  or  choral  singing  an  incom- 
parable and  passionate  devotion  streamed  through  me.  But 
then  again  I  saw  flags  in  the  streets  of  the  city,  or  well-dressed 
women,  or  I  stood  in  the  railway  station,  and  a  train  of 
luxurious  cars  seemed  to  mock  me.  Or  I  saw  a  man  who  had 
hurled  himself  out  of  a  window  and  whose  brains  spattered  the 
pavement,  and  he  seemed  to  cry  out  to  me:  Brother,  brother! 
Then  the  evil  one  arose  in  bodily  form  and  I  desired  to  clutch 
him.  Yes,  evil  has  bodily  form  and  only  evil — injustice, 
stupidity,  lying,  all  the  things  that  are  repulsive  to  one  to  the 
very  core,  but  which  one  must  embrace  and  be,  if  one  has  not 
been  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  one's  mouth.  To  save  a  ray 
of  light  for  myself,  I  learned  to  play  the  organ.  It  helped 
little.  What  does  music  matter,  or  poems  or  beautiful  pictures, 
or  noble  buildings,  or  books  of  philosophy,  or  the  whole  mag- 
nificent world  without?  I  cannot  reach  myself.  Between 
me  and  that  real  self  there  is  something— what  is  it?  A  wall 
of  red-hot  glass.  Some  are  accursed  from  the  beginning.  If  I 
ask:  how  could  the  curse  be  broken?  there  is  but  one  answer: 
the  monstrous  would  need  to  come  to  pass,  the  unimaginable! 
Thus  it  is  with  me." 

Christian  was  shocked.    "  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  One  would  have  to  gain  a  new  experience,"  answered 
Amadeus  Voss,  "  to  know  a  being  truly  human — in  the  highest 
and  deepest  sense."  In  the  gathering  dusk  his  face  had  the 
hue  of  stone.  It  was  a  well-shaped  face — long,  narrow,  intel- 
ligent, full  of  impassioned  suffering.  The  lenses  in  front  of 
his  eyes  sparkled  in  the  last  light  of  day,  and  on  his  fair  hair 
was  a  glimmer  as  upon  jewels. 

"  Are  you  going  to  stay  in  the  village?  "  Christian  inquired, 
not  from  a  desire  to  know,  but  out  of  the  distress  which  he 
felt  in  the  heavy  silence.  "  You  were  employed  by  Councillor 
Ribbeck.  Will  you  return  to  him?  " 

Voss's  nerves  twitched.  "  Return?  There  is  no  return,"  he 
murmured.  "  Do  you  know  Ribbeck?  Well,  I  hardly  know 


i68 

him  myself.  I  saw  him  just  twice.  The  first  time  was  when 
he  came  to  the  seminary  to  engage  a  tutor  for  his  sons.  When 
I  think  of  him  I  have  the  image  of  something  fat  and  frozen. 
I  was  picked  out  at  once.  My  superiors  approved  of  me  highly 
and  desired  to  smooth  my  path.  Yes.  And  I  saw  him  for  the 
second  time  one  night  in  December,  when  he  appeared  at 
Halbertsroda  with  a  commissary  of  police  to  put  me  out.  You 
needn't  look  at  me  that  way.  There  were  no  further  conse- 
quences. It  wouldn't  have  done  to  permit  any." 

He  fell  silent.  Christian  got  up.  Voss  did  not  urge  him  to 
stay  longer,  but  accompanied  him  to  the  door.  There  he  said 
in  a  changed  voice:  "  What  kind  of  a  man  are  you?  One  sits 
before  you  and  pours  out  one's  soul,  and  you  sit  there  in  silence. 
How  does  it  happen?  " 

"  If  you  regret  it  I  shall  forget  all  you  have  said,*'  Christian 
answered  in  his  flexible,  courteous  way,  that  always  had  a 
touch  of  the  equivocal. 

Voss  let  his  head  droop.  "  Come  in  again  when  you  are  pass- 
ing," he  begged  gently.  "  Perhaps  then  I'll  tell  you  about  what 
happened  there!  "  He  pointed  with  his  thumb  across  his 
shoulder. 

"  I  shall  come,"  said  Christian. 

XII 

Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  came  into  his  wife's  bedroom.  She 
was  in  bed.  It  was  a  magnificent  curtained  bed  with  carved 
posters.  On  both  sides  of  the  wall  hung  costly  tapestries 
representing  mythological  scenes.  A  coverlet  qf  blue  damask 
concealed  Frau  Wahnschaffe's  majestic  form. 

Gallantly  he  'kissed  the  hand  which  she  held  out  toward  him 
with  a  weary  gesture,  and  glided  into  an  armchair.  "  I  want 
to  talk  to  you  about  Christian,"  he  said.  "  For  some  time 
his  doings  have  worried  me.  He  drifts  and  drifts.  The  latest 
thing  is  his  purchase  of  that  diamond.  There  is  a  challenge 
in  such  an  action.  It  annoys  me." 


THESILVERCORD  169 

Frau  Wahnschaffe  wrinkled  her  forehead,  and  answered:  "  I 
see  no  need  to  worry.  Many  sons  of  wealthy  houses  pass  their 
time  as  Christian  does.  They  are  like  noble  plants  that  need 
adornment.  They  seem  to  me  to  represent  a  high  degree  of  hu- 
man development.  They  regard  themselves  quite  rightly  as 
excellent  within  themselves.  By  birth  and  wealth  they  are 
freed  from  the  necessity  of  effort.  Their  very  being  is  in  their 
aristocratic  aloofness  and  inviolability." 

Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  bowed.  He  played  with  his  slender 
white  fingers  that  bore  no  sign  of  age.  He  said:  "  I'm  sorry 
that  I  cannot  quite  share  your  opinion.  It  seems  to  me  that 
in  the  social  organism  each  member  should  exercise  a  function 
that  serves  the  whole.  I  was  brought  up  with  this  view,  and 
I  cannot  deny  it  in  favour  of  Christian.  I  am  not  inclined  to 
quarrel  with  his  mere  expenditure  of  money,  though  he  has 
exceeded  his  budget  considerably  during  the  last  few  months. 
The  house  of  Wahnschaffe  cannot  be  touched  even  by  such 
costly  pranks.  What  annoys  me  is  the  aimlessness  of  such 
a  life,  its  exceedingly  obvious  lack  of  any  inner  ambi- 
tion." 

From  under  her  wearily  half-closed  lids  Frau  Wahnschaffe 
regarded  her  husband  coolly.  It  angered  her  that  he  desired 
to  draw  Christian,  who  had  been  created  for  repose  and  play, 
delight  and  beauty,  into  his  own  turbid  whirl.  She  answered 
with  a  touch  of  impatience:  "  You  have  always  let  him  choose 
his  own  path,  and  you  cannot  change  him  now.  All  do  not 
need  to  toil.  Business  is  terribly  unappetizing.  I  have  borne 
two  sons — one  for  you,  one  for  myself.  Demand  of  yours  what 
you  will  and  let  him  fulfil  what  he  can.  I  like  to  think  of 
mine  and  be  happy  in  the  thought  that  he  is  alive.  If  anything 
has  worried  me  it  is  the  fact  that,  since  his  trip  to  England, 
Christian  has  withdrawn  himself  more  and  more  from  us,  and 
also,  I  am  told,  from  his  friends.  I  hope  it  means  nothing. 
Perhaps  there  is  a  woman  behind  it.  In  that  case  it  will  pass; 
he  does  not  indulge  in  tragic  passions.  But  talking  exhausts 


170          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

me,  Albrecht.  If  you  have  other  arguments,  I  beg  you  to 
postpone  them." 

She  turned  her  head  aside,  and  closed  her  eyes  in  exhaustion. 
Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  arose,  kissed  her  hand  with  the  same 
gallant  gesture,  and  went  out. 

But  her  saying  that  she  had  borne  one  son  for  him  and  one 
for  herself  embittered  him  a  little  against  his  wife,  whom  he 
commonly  regarded  as  an  inviolable  being  of  finer  stuff.  Why 
did  I  build  all  this?  he  asked  himself,  as  he  slowly  passed 
through  the  magnificent  halls. 

It  was  more  difficult  for  him  to  approach  Christian  than  a 
member  of  the  ministry  or  a  distinguished  foreigner.  He 
vacillated  between  issuing  a  request  and  a  command.  He  was 
not  sure  of  his  authority,  and  even  less  of  any  friendly  under- 
standing. But  while  he  was  spending  a  few  days  of  rest  and 
recreation  in  the  family's  ancestral  house  at  Wiirzburg,  he  sent 
a  message  to  Christian,  and  begged  him  for  an  interview. 

xni 

• 

Crammon  wrote  to  Christian.  It  was  his  humour  to  affect 
an  archaic  manner  of  speech: 

"  Most  Honoured  and  Worthy  Friend:  With  deep  satisfaction 
I  learn  that  your  Worship  has  ruefully  returned  to  the  god 
Dionysos,  and  as  a  sign  thereof  laid  down  upon  his  altar  a 
jewel,  whose  price  has  caused  the  teeth  of  the  Philistines  in  the 
land  to  rattle,  and  their  lame  digestions  to  work  with  un- 
welcome swiftness.  Your  servant,  the  undersigned,  did,  on  the 
contrary,  when  the  news  of  happy  augury  came  to  him,  perform 
a  dance  in  his  lonely  closet,  which  so  shocked  the  ladies  of  his 
palace  that  they  at  once  called  up  psychiatrists  on  the  tele- 
phone. Thus  the  world,  barren  of  understanding,  is  incapable 
of  great  reflections. 

"  Unlovely  are  my  days.  I  am  ensnared  in  amorous  adven- 
tures which  do  not  content  me,  and,  in  addition,  disappoint 
those  who  are  involved.  At  times  I  sit  by  the  charming  glow  of 


THE    SILVER    CORD  171 

my  chimnl-y  fire,  and,  closing  my  eyes,  peruse  the  book  of 
memory.  A  bottle  of  golden-hued  cognac  is  my  sole  com- 
panion, and  while  I  nourish  my  heart  upon  its  artificial  warmth, 
the  higher  regions  are  wont  to  sink  into  the  cold  mystery'  of 
mere  idiocy.  My  mental  powers  are  moving,  like  the  crab, 
backward;  my  virile  powers  decline.  Years  ago  in  Paris  I  knew 
a  chess  player,  a  purblind  old  German,  who  lost  every  game  he 
played,  and  exclaimed  each  time:  '  Where  are  the  days  in 
which  I  vanquished  the  great  Zuckertort?  '  The  latter,  I  must 
explain,  was  a  great  master  of  the  royal  game.  The  neces- 
sary application  to  myself  embarrasses  me.  There  was  once  a 
Roman  emperor  famous  above  all  others  for  his  power  over 
women;  Maxentius  was,  I  believe,  the  man's  name.  But  were 
I  to  exclaim:  '  Where  are  the  days  in  which  I  rivalled  the  great 
Maxentius?  '  it  were  but  damnable  boasting! 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  you  cannot  be  a  beholder  when  I  arise  from 
my  couch  in  the  morning.  Were  this  spectacle  to  be  tested  by 
connoisseurs  and  to  be  enjoyed  by  the  laity,  throngs  would 
attend  it,  as  whilom  they  did  the  rising  of  the  kings  of  France. 
The  gentry  of  the  land  would  come  to  do  me  reverence,  and 
lovely  ladies  would  tickle  me  to  elicit  a  beam  of  cheer  upon 
my  face.  O  blessed  youth,  friend  and  playmate  of  my  dreams, 
I  would  have  you  know  that  the  moments  in  which  one  leaves 
the  linen  well  warmed  by  one's  own  body,  and  goes  forth  to 
twelve  hours  of  the  world's  mischief,  are  to  me  moments  of 
incomparable  pitifulness.  I  sit  on  the  bed's  edge,  and  regard 
my  underwear  with  a  loud  though  inward  rage.  Sadly  I  gather 
the  remnants  of  my  ego,  and  reknot  the  thread  of  consciousness 
where  Morpheus  cut  it  yestereve.  My  soul  is  strewn  about, 
and  rolls  in  little  globules,  like  mercury  spilt  from  a  broken 
thermometer.  Only  the  sacrificial  fumes  of  the  tea  kettle, 
the  fragrance  of  ham  and  of  an  omelet  like  cowslips,  and,  above 
all,  gentle  words  uttered  by  the  soft  lips  of  my  considerate 
housekeepers,  reconcile  me  to  my  fate. 

"  Dear  old  Regamey  is  dead.    The  Count  Sinsheim  has  had  a 


172          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

paralytic  stroke.  My  friend,  Lady  Constance  Cuningham,  a 
member  of  the  highest  aristocracy,  has  married  a  wealthy 
American  bounder.  The  best  are  going,  and  the  tree  of  life 
is  growing  bare.  On  my  trip  here  I  stopped  over  in  Munich 
for  three  days  as  the  guest  of  the  young  Imhofs.  Your  sister 
Judith  is  cutting  a  great  figure.  The  painters  paint  her,  the 
sculptors  hew  her  in  marble,  the  poets  celebrate  her.  Yet  her 
ambition  is  still  vaulting.  She  desires  passionately  a  little  nine- 
pointed  coronet  upon  her  linen,  her  liveries,  and  her  four 
motors,  and  flirts  with  everything  that  comes  from  the  court  or 
goes  to  it.  Felix,  on  the  contrary,  being  a  democrat,  surrounds 
himself  with  business  men,  speculators,  explorers,  and  clever 
people  of  both  sexes.  Hence  their  house  is  a  mixture  of 
Guildhall,  a  grain  exchange,  a  meeting  of  pettifoggers,  and  a 
jockey  club.  After  watching  the  goings  on  for  an  evening,  I 
retired  to  a  corner  with  a  pretty  girl,  and  asked  her  to  feel  my 
pulse.  She  obeyed,  and  my  suffering  soul  was  soothed. 

"  Our  sweet  Ariel,  I  am  told,  intoxicates  the  Poles  in  Warsaw 
and  the  Muscovites  in  Moscow.  In  the  latter  city  the  students 
are  said  to  have  expressed  their  homage  by  a  torchlight  pro- 
cession, and  the  officers  to  have  covered  the  snowy  streets  from 
her  dwelling  to  the  theatre  with  roses.  I  am  also  told  that 
the  Grand  Duke  Cyril,  commonly  known  as  the  human  butcher, 
is  half-mad  with  love  of  her,  and  is  turning  the  world  topsy- 
turvy to  get  her.  It  fills  me  with  a  piercing,  depthless  melan- 
choly to  think,  O  Ariel,  that  once  I,  too,  felt  thy  breath.  No 
more  than  that;  but  it  suffices.  Le  moulin  n'y  est  plus,  mais 
le  vent  y  est  encore. 

"  With  this  final  remark,  dear  brother  of  my  heart  and  sorely 
missed  friend,  I  commend  you  to  God,  and  beseech  you  to  give 
some  sign  to  your  affectionately  longing  Bernard  Gervasius 
C.  v.  W." 

When  Christian  had  read  the  letter,  he  smiled,  and  laid  it 
quietly  aside. 


THE   SILVER   CORD  173 

xrv 

On  the  slope  of  the  hill  behind  the  village  Christian  and 
Amadeus  Voss  met  quite  by  chance. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  all  week,"  said  Voss. 

"  I  was  going  to  come  to  you  to-day,"  said  Christian. 
"  Won't  you  walk  a  little  with  me?  " 

Amadeus  Voss  turned  and  accompanied  Christian.  They 
climbed  the  hill-top,  and  then  turned  toward  the  forest. 
Silently  they  walked  side  by  side.  The  sun  shone  through  the 
boughs  and  everything  was  watery.  Remnants  of  snow  rested 
on  the  dry  foliage;  the  ground  was  slippery;  on  the  road  the 
water  flowed  in  the  deep  ruts.  When  they  left  the  forest  the 
sun  was  just  setting,  the  sky  was  greenish  and  pink,  and  when 
they  reached  the  first  houses  of  Heptrich,  twilight  had  fallen. 
On  the  whole  way  they  had  not  exchanged  a  syllable.  At  first 
Voss  had  deliberately  not  kept  step  with  Christian.  Later  they 
walked  in  a  rhythmic  harmony  that  was  like  the  prelude  to 
their  conversations. 

"  I'm  hungry,"  said  Amadeus  Voss;  "  there  is  an  inn  yonder. 
Let  us  go." 

They  entered  the  guest  room,  which  they  found  empty. 
They  sat  down  at  a  table  near  the  oven,  for  the  cold  air  had 
chilled  them.  A  bar-maid  lit  a  lamp,  and  brought  what  they 
ordered.  Christian,  in  an  access  of  fear,  which  was  less  only 
than  his  curiosity,  thought:  What  will  happen  now?  and 
watched  Voss  attentively. 

"  The  other  day  I  read  a  moral  tale  in  an  old  book,"  said 
Amadeus,  and  he  used  a  sharpened  match  as  a  tooth-pick  in  a 
way  that  made  Christian  tremble  with  nervousness.  "  It  tells 
about  a  king,  who  realized  that  men  and  things  in  his  country 
were  growing  worse  every  day,  and  he  asked  four  philosophers 
to  find  out  the  reason.  The  four  wise  men  consulted,  and  then 
each  went  to  one  of  the  four  gates  of  the  city  and  inscribed 
thereon  one  of  the  chief  reasons.  The  first  wrote:  '  Here  might 


174          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

is  right,  and  therefore  this  land  has  no  law;  day  is  night,  and 
therefore  this  land  has  no  road ;  conflict  is  flight,  and  therefore 
this  land  has  no  honour.'  The  second  wrote:  '  One  is  two  here, 
and  therefore  this  land  has  no  truth;  friend  is  enemy  here, 
therefore  this  land  has  no  troth;  evil  is  good,  therefore  we 
see  no  piety.'  The  third  wrote:  '  The  snail  pretends  to  be  an 
eagle,  and  thieves  hold  all  power.'  The  fourth  wrote:  '  The 
will  is  our  counsellor,  and  its  counsel  is  evil;  the  penny  pro- 
nounces judgment,  therefore  our  rule  is  vile;  God  is  dead,  and 
therefore  the  land  is  filled  with  sins.'  " 

He  threw  the  match  away,  and  leaned  his  liead  upon  his 
hand.  "  In  the  same  book,"  he  went  on,  "  there  is  yet  another 
story,  and  perhaps  you  will  feel  the  connection  between  the 
two.  Once  upon  a  time  the  earth  opened  in  the  midst  of 
Rome,  and  a  yawning  abyss  was  seen.  The  gods  were  ques- 
tioned, and  they  made  answer:  '  This  abyss  will  not  close  until 
some  one  has  leaped  into  it  of  his  own  free  will.'  None  could 
be  persuaded  to  do  that.  At  last  a  youth  came  and  said:  '  If 
you  will  let  me  live  for  one  year  according  to  my  pleasure,  then 
at  the  year's  end  I  shall  gladly  and  voluntarily  plunge  into 
the  abyss.'  It  was  decided  that  nothing  should  be  forbidden 
him,  and  he  used  the  women  and  possessions  of  the  Romans 
freely  and  at  his  pleasure.  All  yearned  for  the  moment  to 
come  when  they  could  be  rid  of  him.  And  when  the  year 
was  gone,  he  rode  up  on  a  noble  charger,  and  with  it  leaped  into 
the  abyss,  which  immediately  closed  behind  him." 

Christian  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  It  is  all  dark  to  me,"  he 
said  moodily.  "  Did  you  really  want  to  tell  me  these  old 
tales?  They  have  no  meaning." 

Voss  laughed  hoarsely  to  himself.  "  You  are  not  nimble," 
he  said,  "  you  have  not  a  nimble  mind.  Have  you  never  felt 
the  need  of  seeking  refuge  in  some  metaphor?  It  is  like  a  drug 
that  stills  pain." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that,"  Christian  said,  and 
again  he  heard  the  other's  soft  laughter. 


THE   SILVER   CORD  175 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  Christian  and  arose. 
"  Very  well.    Let  us  go."    Voss  spoke  with  a  morose  air. 
And  they  went. 

xv 

The  night  air  was  very  still  and  the  sky  sown  with  stars 
that  gleamed  coldly.  When  the  village  lay  behind  them,  they 
heard  no  sound. 

"  How  long  were  you  in  Ribbeck's  house?  "  Christian  asked 
suddenly. 

"  Ten  months,"  Amadeus  Voss  replied.  "  When  I  got  to 
Halbertsroda,  the  land  lay  under  ice  and  snow.  When  I  left, 
the  land  lay  under  ice  and  snow.  Between  my  coming  and 
going,  there  was  a  spring,  a  summer,  and  an  autumn." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  gazed  after  an  animal  that  in 
the  darkness  leaped  across  the  road  and  disappeared  in  the 
furrows  of  a  field.  Then  he  began  to  talk,  at  first  in  a  staccato 
manner  and  drily,  then  vividly  and  tempestuously,  and  at  last 
gasping  for  breath.  They  wandered  away  from  the  road,  but 
were  not  aware  of  it;  the  hour  grew  late,  but  they  did  not 
know  it. 

Voss  told  his  story: 

"  I  had  never  seen  a  house  like  that.  The  carpets,  pictures, 
tapestries,  the  silver,  the  many  servants — it  was  all  new  to 
me.  I  had  never  eaten  of  such  dishes  nor  slept  in  such  beds. 
I  came  from  amid  four  bare  walls,  from  a  cot,  an  iron  stove, 
a  wash  stand,  a  book  shelf,  and  a  crucifix. 

"  My  two  pupils  were  eleven  and  thirteen.  The  older  was 
blond  and  spare,  the  younger  brunette  and  stocky.  Their 
hair  hung  down  their  shoulders  like  manes.  From  the  very 
first  hour  they  treated  me  with  a  jeering  resistance.  At  first  I 
did  not  see  Frau  Ribbeck  at  all.  Not  till  a  week  had  passed 
did  she  summon  me.  She  made  the  impression  of  a  young  girl; 
she  had  rust-red  hair  and  a  pale,  intimidated,  undeveloped  face. 
She  treated  me  with  a  contempt  that  I  had  not  expected,  and 


176          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

that  drove  the  blood  into  my  temples.  My  meals  were  served 
to  me  alone.  I  was  not  permitted  to  eat  at  the  master's  table, 
and  the  servants  treated  me  as  their  equal.  That  gnawed  at 
me  cruelly.  When  Frau  Ribbeck  appeared  in  the  garden  and  I 
lifted  my  hat,  she  barely  nodded,  blind  and  shameless  in  her 
contempt  for  one  whom  she  paid.  I  was  no  more  to  her  than 
thin  air! 

"  It  is  as  old  as  the  world,  this  sin  that  was  sinned  against  my 
soul.  Ye  sinners  against  my  soul,  why  did  you  let  me  famish? 
Why  did  I  taste  of  renunciation  while  ye  revelled?  How 
shall  a  hungry  man  withstand  the  temptations  which  the  living 
Tempter  places  before  him?  Do  you  think  we  are  not  aware 
of  your  gluttony?  All  action,  whether  good  or  evil,  runs 
through  all  nature.  When  the  grape  blossoms  in  Madeira,  the 
wine  that  has  been  pressed  from  it  stirs  in  a  thousand  casks 
far  over  sea  and  land,  and  a  new  fermentation  sets  in. 

"  One  morning  the  boys  locked  the  door  of  their  room  and 
refused  to  come  to  their  instruction.  While  I  shook  the  knob 
they  mocked  me  from  within.  In  the  halls  the  servants  stood 
and  laughed  at  my  powerlessness.  I  went  to  the  gardener,  bor- 
rowed an  axe,  and  crashed  through  the  door  with  three  blows. 
A  minute  later  I  was  in  the  room.  The  boys  looked  at  me  in 
consternation,  and  realized  at  last  that  I  would  not  endure 
their  insolence.  The  noise  had  brought  Frau  Ribbeck  to  the 
scene.  She  looked  at  the  broken  door  and  then  at  me.  I 
shall  never  forget  that  look.  She  did  not  turn  her  eyes  from 
me  even  while  she  was  speaking  to  the  children,  and  that  was 
at  least  ten  minutes.  Her  eyes  asked:  How  dare  you?  Who 
are  you?  When  she  went  out,  she  saw  the  axe  near  the  door 
and  stopped  a  moment,  and  I  saw  her  shiver.  But  I  knew  that 
the  direction  of  the  wind  had  changed.  Also  it  came  into  my 
consciousness  that  a  human  woman  had  stood  before  me. 

"  The  teasing  of  my  pupils  was  by  no  means  at  an  end.  On 
the  contrary,  they  annoyed  me  as  much  as  possible.  But  they 
did  it  secretively  now,  and  the  blame  was  hard  to  fix.  I  found 


THE   SILVER   CORD  177 

pebbles  and  needles  in  my  bed,  ink  spilled  over  my  books,  a 
horrible  rent  in  the  best  suit  of  clothes  I  had.  They  jeered  at 
me  before  others,  lied  about  me  to  their  mother,  and  exchanged 
glances  of  shameless  insolence  when  I  held  them  responsible. 
What  they  did  was  not  like  the  ordinary  mischief  of  silly  boys. 
They  had  been  sophisticated  by  luxury.  They  were  afraid  of 
a  draught,  had  the  rooms  so  overheated  that  one  grew  faint, 
and  thought  of  nothing  but  physical  comforts.  Once  they 
fought,  and  the  younger  bit  the  older's  finger.  The  boy  went 
to  bed  for  three  days,  and  insisted  that  a  physician  be  called. 
Nor  was  this  merely  a  case  of  lazy  malingering;  bottomless 
malevolence  and  vengefulness  entered  into  it.  They  considered 
me  as  far  beneath  them,  and  lost  no  chance  to  make  me  feel 
my  dependent  position.  My  mood  was  often  bitter,  but  I 
determined  to  practise  patience. 

"  One  evening  I  entered  the  drawing-room.  The  hour  which 
I  had  set  as  the  boys'  bed-time  was  past.  Frau  Ribbeck  sat 
on  the  carpet,  the  boys  snuggled  on  either  side  of  her.  She  was 
showing  them  the  pictures  in  a  book.  Her  hair  hung  loose, — 
an  unfitting  thing,  I  thought — and  its  reddish  splendour  cov- 
ered her  as  well  as  the  boys  like  a  mantle  of  brocade.  The  boys 
fixed  green  and  evil  eyes  upon  me.  I  ordered  them  to  bed  at 
once.  There  must  have  been  something  in  my  tone  that 
frightened  them  and  forced  them  to  obey.  Without  contradic- 
tion they  got  up  and  retired. 

"  Adeline  remained  on  the  carpet.  I  shall  simply  call  her 
Adeline,  as,  indeed,  I  did  later  during  our  intercourse.  She 
looked  at  me  exactly  as  she  had  done  that  day  I  had  used  the 
axe.  One  cannot  well  be  paler  than  she  was  by  nature,  but  her 
skin  now  became  positively  transparent.  She  arose,  went  to 
the  table,  lifted  some  indifferent  object,  and  put  it  down  again. 
At  the  same  time  a  mocking  smile  hovered  upon  her  lips.  That 
smile  went  through  and  through  me.  And  indeed  the  woman 
herself  pierced  me,  body  and  soul.  You'll  misunderstand  me. 
It  doesn't  matter.  If  you  don't  understand,  no  explanations 


178          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

will  do  any  good.  The  sheet  of  ice  above  me  cracked,  and 
I  had  a  glimpse  of  the  upper  world." 

"  I  believe  I  do  understand  you,"  said  Christian. 

"  To  my  question  whether  she  desired  me  to  leave  the  house, 
she  replied  that,  since  her  husband  had  engaged  me,  it  was  for 
her  to  respect  the  arrangement.  Her  tone  was  frosty.  I  re- 
plied that  the  pressure  of  her  dislike  made  it  impossible  for  my 
activities  to  be  fruitful.  With  an  indirect  glance  at  me,  she 
answered  that  some  method  of  decent  co-operation  could  prob- 
ably be  found,  and  that  she  would  think  it  over.  Beginning 
with  that  evening,  I  was  invited  to  table  with  her,  and  the 
boys  and  she  treated  me  with  respect,  if  not  with  kindness. 
Late  one  evening  she  sent  for  me  and  asked  me  to  read  to 
her.  She  gave  me  the  book  from  which  I  was  to  read.  It  was 
a  current  fashionable  novel,  and,  after  I  had  read  a  few  pages, 
I  threw  the  volume  on  the  table,  and  said  that  the  stuff  nause- 
ated me.  She  nodded,  and  answered  that  that  was  quite  her 
feeling,  too,  which  she  had  not  wanted  to  admit  even  to  her- 
self, and  that  she  was  grateful  to  me  for  my  frankness.  I  went 
for  my  Bible,  and  read  her  the  story  of  Samson  from  the  Book 
of  Judges.  It  must  have  seemed  naive  to  her,  for  when  I  had 
finished  that  mocking  smile  played  again  about  her  lips.  Then 
she  asked:  '  It's  hardly  necessary,  is  it,  to  be  a  hero  in  Judah 
to  share  Samson's  fate?  And  do  you  think  that  what  Delilah 
accomplished  was  so  remarkable?  '  I  replied  that  I  had  no 
experience  of  such  matters,  and  she  laughed. 

"  One  word  led  to  another,  and  I  gathered  the  courage  to 
reproach  her  with  the  morally  neglected  condition  of  her  chil- 
dren, and  with  the  wounding  and  vulgar  quality  of  all  I  had  so 
far  seen  and  experienced  in  her  house.  I  intentionally  used  the 
sharpest  words,  in  order  that  she  might  flare  up  in  wrath  and 
show  me  the  door.  But  she  remained  quite  calm,  and  begged 
me  to  explain  my  ideas  more  fully.  I  did  so,  not  without  pas- 
sion, and  she  heard  me  with  pleasure.  Several  times  I  saw  her 
breathe  deeply  and  stretch  herself  and  close  her  eyes.  She 


THE    SILVER   CORD  179 

contradicted  me,  then  agreed,  defended  her  position,  and  in  the 
end  admitted  it  to  be  indefensible.  I  told  her  that  the  love 
which  she  thought  she  felt  for  her  sons  was  really  a  sort  of 
hatred,  based  on  a  poisoning  of  her  own  soul,  in  which  there 
was  yet  another  life  and  another  love,  which  it  was  wicked  to 
condemn  to  withering  and  death.  She  must  have  misunder- 
stood me  at  this  point,  for  she  looked  at  me  with  her  large  eyes 
suddenly,  and  bade  me  go.  When  I  had  closed  her  door  be- 
hind me,  I  heard  sobs.  I  opened  the  door  again,  and  saw  her 
sitting  there  with  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands.  I  had  the 
impulse  to  return  to  her.  But  her  gesture  dismissed  me. 

"  I  had  never  before  seen  any  woman  cry  except  my  mother. 
I  cannot  tell  you  of  my  feelings.  If  I  had  had  a  sister  and 
grown  up  in  her  companionship,  I  might  have  acted  and  felt 
differently.  But  Adeline  was  the  first  woman  whom,  in  any 
deeper  sense,  I  truly  saw. 

"  Several  days  later  she  asked  me  whether  I  had  any  hope  of 
forming  her  boys  into  human  beings  in  my  sense.  She  said  that 
she  had  reflected  on  all  I  had  urged,  and  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  things  could  not  go  on  as  they  were.  I 
answered  that  it  was  not  yet  too  late.  She  begged  me  to  save 
what  was  possible,  and  announced  that,  in  order  to  leave  me  a 
free  hand,  she  had  determined  to  travel  for  a  few  months. 
Three  days  later  she  departed.  She  took  no  personal  farewell 
of  her  sons,  but  wrote  them  a  letter  from  Dresden. 

"  I  took  the  boys  with  me  to  a  hunting  lodge,  that  lay  isolated 
in  the  woods,  at  a  distance  of  two  hours  from  Halbertsroda. 
It  belonged  to  the  Ribbeck  estate,  and  Adeline  had  assigned 
it  to  me  as  a  refuge.  There  I  settled  down  with  the  boys  and 
took  them  sternly  in  hand.  Sometimes  dread  overcame  me, 
when  I  thought  of  .the  words  of  Scripture:  Why  do  you  seek 
constantly  to  change  your  way?  Beware  lest  you  be  deceived 
by  Egypt,  as  you  were  deceived  by  Assyria. 

"  A  deaf,  old  man-servant  cooked  for  us,  and  luxurious  meals 
were  a  thing  of  the  past.  The  boys  had  to  pray,  to  fast  once 


i8o          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

a  week,  to  sleep  on  hard  mattresses,  and  to  rise  at  five  in  the 
morning.  In  every  way  I  broke  down  their  stubbornness,  their 
dull  sloth,  their  furtive  sensuality,  their  plots  and  tricks. 
There  was  no  play  now,  and  the  days  were  divided  with  iron 
regularity.  I  shrank  from  no  severity.  I  chastised  them;  at 
the  slightest  disobedience  I  used  a  whip.  I  taught  them  the 
meaning  of  pain.  When  they  cowered  naked  before  me,  with 
the  bloody  stripes  on  their  bodies,  I  spoke  to  them  of  the  mar- 
tyrdom of  the  saints.  I  kept  a  diary,  in  order  that  Adeline 
might  know  exactly  what  had  happened.  The  boys  started 
when  they  heard  me  from  afar;  they  trembled  if  I  but  raised 
my  head.  Once  I  came  upon  them  whispering  to  each  other  in 
bed  at  night.  I  drove  them  out.  They  screamed  and  fled  out 
of  the  house  from  me.  In  their  night  shifts  they  ran  into  the 
forest,  and  I,  with  two  dogs  following  me,  pursued  them.  Rain 
began  to  pour,  and  at  last  they  broke  down  and  threw  them- 
selves on  the  ground  and  begged  for  mercy.  Most  difficult  of 
all  it  was  to  lead  them  to  Confession.  But  I  was  stronger  than 
the  Evil  One  within  them,  and  forced  them  to  cleanse  their 
souls.  Bitter  hours  were  the  hours  I  endured.  But  I  had 
made  a  vow  to  Adeline  in  my  heart. 

"  The  boys  became  thoughtful,  subdued,  and  silent.  They 
went  into  corners  and  wept.  When  Adeline  returned  I  took 
them  to  Halbertsroda,  and  she  marvelled  at  the  change  in  them. 
They  flung  themselves  into  her  arms,  but  they  uttered  no 
complaint  against  me,  either  then  or  when  they  were  left  alone 
with  her.  I  had  told  them  that  if  they  were  disobedient  or 
stubborn,  we  would  return  to  the  hunting  lodge.  One  or  two 
days  a  week  were  spent  there  under  any  circumstances.  Gradu- 
ally they  came  to  avoid  their  mother,  and  Adeline  herself  was 
more  indifferent  to  them.  The  softish,  hectic,  over-tender 
element  in  their  relations  had  disappeared. 

"  Adeline  sought  my  companionship  and  conversation.  She 
watched  me,  and  was  condescending,  weary,  distracted  in 
mind,  and  restless.  She  adorned  herself  as  though  guests  were 


THE   SILVER   CORD  181 

coming,  and  combed  her  hair  thrice  daily.  In  all  respects  she 
submitted  to  my  regulations.  There  are  dulled,  worm-eaten, 
smouldering  souls  that  kneel  before  the  raised  axe  in  another's 
hand,  and  give  only  mockery  to  those  who  bend  before  them. 
Often  her  loftiness  and  reserve  overwhelmed  me,  and  I  thought 
that  she  had  no  space  for  me  in  her  mind.  Then  a  look  came 
into  her  eyes  that  made  me  forget  whence  I  came  and  what  I 
was  in  her  house.  Everything  seemed  possible  with  her.  She 
was  capable  of  setting  fire  to  the  house  by  night,  because  she  was 
bored,  and  because  the  cancer  that  ate  at  her  soul  would  cease 
its  gnawing  for  no  nobler  ecstasy:  she  was  capable  of  standing 
from  noon  to  night  before  her  mirror  to  watch  a  deepening 
furrow  on  her  brow.  Everything  seemed  possible.  For  is  it 
not  written:  What  man  knoweth  what  is  in  man  except  only  the 
spirit  of  man  that  is  in  him? 

"  My  deep  temptations  began  on  an  evening  when,  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  she  carelessly  laid  her  hand  over  mine, 
and  withdrew  it  hastily.  That  gesture  snatched  from  my 
sight  the  things  about  us.  In  the  space  between  one  thought 
and  the  next  I  had  become  the  slave  of  visions  and  desires. 

"  She  asked  me  to  tell  her  about  my  life.  I  fell  into  that 
snare  too,  and  told  her. 

"  Once  in  the  twilight  I  met  her  in  the  hall.  She  stood  still, 
and  looked  at  me  piercingly.  Then  she  laughed  softly  and 
moved  away.  I  reeled,  and  the  sweat  stood  in  beads  on  my 
forehead. 

"  My  heart  was  heavy  when  I  was  alone.  Visions  appeared 
that  set  my  room  in  flames.  My  rosary  and  my  missal  were 
hidden  from  me,  and  I  could  find  neither.  Always  there  rose 
the  cry  in  me:  Once  only!  Let  me  taste  that  ecstasy  but  once! 
Then  demons  came  and  tormented  me.  All  the  muscles  and 
nerves  and  sinews  of  my  body  seemed  lacerated.  Do  with  me 
as  God  wills,  I  whispered  to  the  demons,  for  my  heart  is  pre- 
pared. During  sleep  a  strange  force  hurled  me  from  my  bed, 
and  unconsciously  I  battered  the  walls  with  my  head.  One 


1 82          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

whole  week  I  fasted  upon  bread  and  water,  but  it  did  not  avail. 
Once  when  I  had  sat  down  to  read,  a  huge  ape  stood  before 
me  and  turned  the  leaves  of  my  book.  Every  night  a  seduc- 
tive vision  of  Adeline  came  to  my  bed-side.  She  stood  there 
and  spoke:  '  It  is  I,  my  beloved.'  Then  I  would  rise  and  run 
senselessly  about.  But  she  would  follow  me  and  whisper: 
'  You  shall  be  my  master  and  have  all  the  good  things  of  this 
world.'  But  when  I  sought  to  grasp  that  vision  of  her,  it 
showed  a  sudden  aversion,  and  she  called  fluttering  shadows  to 
her  aid.  One  was  a  notary  with  a  pen  and  an  ink-well, 
another  a  locksmith  with  a  red-hot  hammer,  there  was  a  mason 
with  his  trowel,  an  officer  with  naked  sword,  a  woman  with  a 
painted  face. 

"  So  terrible  was  my  state,  that  I  understood  but  slowly  and 
gradually  the  dreadful  realities  that  took  place  about  me.  One 
morning  Adeline  came  into  the  room  where  I  was  teaching  the 
boys,  sat  down,  and  listened.  She  drew  from  her  finger  a  ring 
that  had  in  it  a  great,  lovely  pearl,  played  with  it  thought- 
fully, arose,  went  to  the  window  to  watch  the  falling  of  the 
snow,  and  then  left  the  room  to  go  into  the  garden.  I  could 
not  breathe  or  see  any  longer.  There  was  an  intolerable  pres- 
sure on  my  chest,  and  I  had  to  leave  the  room  for  a  little  to 
catch  my  breath.  When  I  returned  I  saw  in  the  eyes  of  my 
pupils  a  look  of  unwonted  malevolence.  I  paid  no  attention 
to  it.  From  time  to  time  the  old  rebelliousness  flared  up  in 
them,  but  I  let  them  be.  They  sat  before  me  half-crouching, 
and  recited  their  catechism  softly  and  with  glances  full  of  fear. 

"  About  ten  minutes  passed  when  Adeline  returned.  She  said 
she  had  left  her  ring  on  the  table,  and  asked  me  whether  I 
had  seen  it.  She  began  to  search  for  it,  and  so  did  I.  She 
called  her  maid  and  a  footman,  who  examined  everything  in 
the  room;  but  the  ring  was  gone.  Adeline  and  her  servants 
looked  at  me  strangely,  for  I  stood  there  and  could  not  move. 
I  felt  at  once  and  in  every  fibre  that  I  was  exposed  to  their 
suspicion.  They  searched  on  the  stairs  and  in  the  hall,  in  the 


THE   SILVER   CORD  183 

new  fallen  snow  of  the  garden,  and  again  in  the  room,  since 
Adeline  insisted  that  she  had  taken  the  ring  off  there  and 
forgotten  it  on  the  table.  And  I  confirmed  this  statement, 
although  I  had  not  actually  seen  the  ring  on  the  table,  since 
I  had  seen  her  and  her  gestures  but  as  things  in  a  4ream. 
All  the  words  that  were  exchanged  between  her  and  the 
servants  seemed  directed  against  me.  I  read  suspicion  in  their 
looks  and  changed  colour,  and  called  the  boys,  who  had  stolen 
away  as  soon  as  they  could,  and  questioned  them.  They  sug- 
gested that  their  rooms  be  searched,  and  looked  at  me  with 
malignity.  I  begged  Adeline  to  have  my  room  searched  as 
well.  She  made  a  deprecating  gesture,  but  said,  as  though  in 
self-justification,  that  she  attached  a  peculiar  value  to  this  ring 
and  should  hate  to  lose  it. 

"  Meantime  the  manager  of  the  estate,  who  happened  to  have 
spent  that  night  at  Halbertsroda,  entered.  He  passed  me 
by  without  greeting,  but  with  a  dark  and  hostile  glance. 
Then  it  all  came  over  me.  I  saw  myself  delivered  over 
to  their  suspicions  without  defence,  and  I  said  to  myself: 
Perhaps  you  have  really  stolen  the  ring.  The  fall  from 
my  previous  spiritual  condition  to  this  vulgar  and  ugly  one 
was  so  sudden,  that  I  broke  out  into  wild  laughter,  and 
insisted  more  urgently  than  ever  that  my  room  and  effects  and 
even  my  person  be  searched.  The  manager  spoke  softly  to 
Adeline.  She  looked  at  me  wanly  and  went  out.  I  emptied 
my  pockets  in  the  man's  presence.  He  followed  me  to  my  room. 
I  sat  down  by  the  window  while  he  opened  drawer  after  drawer 
in  my  chest  and  opened  my  wardrobe.  The  footman,  the  maid, 
and  the  two  boys  stood  by  the  door.  Suddenly  the  manager 
uttered  a  hollow  cry  and  held  up  the  ring.  I  had  known  with 
the  utmost  certainty  a  moment  ^before  that  he  would  find  the 
ring.  I  had  read  it  in  the  faces  of  the  boys.  Therefore  I  re- 
mained quietly  seated  while  the  others  looked  at  one  another 
and  followed  the  manager  out.  I  locked  my  door  and  walked 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  for  many,  many  hours. 


184          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  When  the  night  was  over,  there  was  a  solemn  calm  in  my 
soul.  I  sent  a  servant  to  ask  Adeline  whether  she  would  receive 
me.  She  refused.  To  justify  myself  in  writing  was  a  thing  I 
scorned  to  do.  I  would  but  degrade  myself  by  asserting  my  in- 
nocence thus.  My  soul  felt  pure  and  cold.  I  learned  next  day 
that  the  manager  had  long  heard  rumours  of  the  frightful  cruel- 
ties I  was  said  to  inflict  on  the  boys,  who  had,  moreover,  ac- 
cused their  mother  and  myself  of  an  adulterous  intimacy. 
Hence  he  had  visited  Halbertsroda  secretly  on  several  occasions, 
had  questioned  the  servants,  and  had,  that  very  morning,  caused 
the  boys  to  strip  in  his  presence  and  had  seen  on  their  bodies 
the  marks  of  the  stripes  that  they  had  received.  Since,  in 
addition,  their  entire  state  of  mind  made  him  anxious,  he  sent 
a  telegram  to  the  Councillor,  who  arrived  during  the  night 
with  an  official  of  the  police. 

"  I  suspect  that  Adeline  at  once  saw  through  the  plot 
concerning  the  ring,  for  it  was  not  mentioned.  The  com- 
missary turned  to  me  and  spoke  vaguely  of  serious  conse- 
quences, but  I  made  no  attempt  to  explain  or  excuse  anything 
I  had  done.  I  left  Halbertsroda  that  same  night.  I  did  not 
see  Adeline  again.  She  was,  I  have  been  told,  sent  off  to  a 
sanatorium.  Three  weeks  later  a  little  package  came  to  me  by 
post.  I  opened  it  and  found  in  it  the  ring  with  the  pearl.  In 
our  yard  is  a  very  ancient  well.  I  went  to  that  well  and  cast 
the  ring  into  its  depths. 

"  And  now  you  know  what  happened  to  me  in  that  world  of 
the  higher  classes,  in  the  house  of  the  Councillor  Ribbeck." 

XVI 

They  had  to  walk  a  while  longer  before  they  reached  the 
gate  of  the  park  of  Christian's  Rest.  As  Voss  was  about  to 
take  his  leave,  Christian  said:  "  You're  probably  tired.  Why 
trouble  to  walk  to  the  village?  Be  my  guest  over  night." 

"  If  it  does  not  inconvenience  you,  I  accept,"  Voss  answered. 

They  entered  the  house  and  passed  into  the  brightly  lit  hall. 


THE    SILVER    CORD  185 

Amadeus  Voss  gazed  about  him  in  astonishment.  They  went 
up  the  stairs  and  into  the  dining  hall,  which  was  furnished  in 
the  purest  style  of  Louis  XV.  Christian  led  his  guest  through 
other  rooms  into  the  one  that  was  to  be  his.  And  Amadeus 
Voss  wondered  more  and  more.  "  This  is  quite  another  thing 
from  Halbertsroda,"  he  murmured;  "  it  is  as  a  feast  day  com- 
pared to  every  day." 

Silently  they  sat  opposite  each  other  at  table.  Then  they 
went  into  the  library.  A  footman  served  the  coffee  on  a  silver 
platter.  Voss  leaned  against  a  column  and  looked  upward. 
When  the  servant  had  gone,  he  said:  "  Have  you  ever  heard  of 
the  Telchinian  pestilence?  It  is  a  disease  created  by  the  envy 
of  the  Telchines,  the  hounds  of  Actaeon  who  were  changed  into 
men,  and  it  destroys  everything  within  its  reach.  A  youth 
named  Euthilides  saw  with  that  eye  of  envy  the  reflection  of 
his  own  beauty  in  a  spring,  and  his  beauty  faded." 

Christian  looked  silently  at  the  floor. 

"  There  is  another  legend  of  a  Polish  nobleman,"  Amadeus 
continued.  "  This  nobleman  lived  alone  in  a  white  house  by 
the  Vistula  river.  All  his  neighbours  avoided  him,  for  his 
envious  glance  brought  them  nothing  but  misfortune.  It  killed 
their  herds,  set  fire  to  their  barns,  and  made  their  children 
leprous.  Once  a  beautiful  maiden  was  pursued  by  wolves 
and  took  refuge  in  the  white  house.  He  fell  in  love  with  her 
and  married  her.  But  because  the  evil  that  was  in  him  passed 
into  her  also,  he  tore  out  the  gleaming  crystals  of  his  eyes,  and 
buried  them  near  the  garden  wall.  He  had  now  recovered. 
But  the  buried  eyes  gained  new  power  under  the  earth,  and  an 
old  servitor  who  dug  them  up  was  slain  by  them." 

Sitting  on  a  low  stool,  Christian  had  folded  his  arms  over 
his  knee,  and  looked  up  at  Voss. 

"  From  time  to  time,"  said  Amadeus  Voss,  "  one  must  ex- 
piate the  lust  of  the  eye.  Over  in  the  village  of  Nettersheim 
a  maid  servant  lies  dying.  The  poor  thing  is  deserted  by  all  the 
world.  She  lies  in  a  shed  by  the  stables,  and  the  peasants  who 


j 86          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

think  her  merely  lazy  will  not  believe  that  she  is  about  to  die. 
I  have  visited  her  more  than  once,  in  order  to  expiate  the 
lust  of  the  eye." 

A  long  silence  fell  upon  them.  When  the  clock  in  the  tall 
Gothic  case  struck  twelve,  they  went  to  their  rooms. 

XVII 

In  obedience  to  his  father's  summons,  Christian  travelled  to 
Wiirzburg. 

Their  greeting  was  most  courteous.  "  I  hope  I  have  not 
interfered  with  any  plans  of  yours,"  said  Albrecht  Wahn- 
schaffe. 

"  I  am  at  your  disposal,"  Christian  said  coolly. 

They  took  a  walk  on  the  old  ramparts  but  said  little.  The 
beautiful  dog  Freia,  who  was  the  constant  companion  of 
Albrecht  Wahnschaffe,  trotted  along  between  them.  It  sur- 
prised the  elder  Wahnschaffe  to  observe  on  Christian's  face 
the  signs  of  inner  change. 

That  evening,  over  their  tea,  he  said  with  an  admirably 
generous  gesture.  "  You're  to  be  congratulated,  I  understand, 
on  a  very  unusual  acquisition.  A  wreath  of  legends  surrounds 
this  diamond.  The  incident  has  caused  quite  a  whirl  of  dust 
to  fly  and  not  a  little  amazement.  Not  unjustly  so,  it  seems 
to  me,  since  you  are  neither  a  British  Duke  nor  an  Indian 
Maharajah.  Is  the  stone  so  very  desirable?  " 

"  It  is  marvellous,"  Christian  said.  And  suddenly  the  words 
of  Voss  slipped  into  his  mind:  One  must  expiate  the  lust  of  the 
eye. 

Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  nodded.  "I  don't  doubt  it,  and  I 
understand  such  passions,  though,  as  a  man  of  business,  I 
must  regret  the  tying  up  of  so  much  capital.  It  is  an  eccen- 
tricity; and  the  world  is  endangered  whenever  the  commoners 
grow  eccentric.  And  so  I  should  like  to  ask  you  to  re- 
flect on  this  aspect  of  things:  all  the  privileges  which  you 
enjoy,  all  the  easements  of  life,  the  possibility  of  satisfying 


THE    SILVER   CORD  187 

your  whims  and  passions,  the  supremacy  of  your  social  station 
— all  these  things  rest  on  work.  Need  I  add — on  the  work  of 
your  father?  " 

The  dog  Freia  had  strolled  out  from  a  corner  of  the  room, 
and  laid  her  head  caressingly  on  Christian's  knee.  Albrecht 
Wahnschaffe,  slightly  annoyed  and  jealous,  gave  her  a  smart 
slap  on  one  flank. 

He  continued.  "  An  exploitation  of  one's  capacity  for  work 
which  reaches  the  extent  of  mine  involves,  of  course,  the 
broadest  self-denial  in  all  other  matters.  One  becomes  a 
ploughshare  that  tears  up  the  earth  and  rusts.  Or  one  is  like 
a  burning  substance,  luminiferous  but  self -consumed.  Mar- 
riage, family,  friendship,  art,  nature — these  things  scarcely 
exist  for  me.  I  have  lived  like  a  miner  in  his  shaft.  And  what 
thanks  do  I  get?  Demagogues  tell  those  whom  they  delude 
that  I  am  a  vampire,  who  sucks  the  blood  of  the  oppressed. 
These  poisoners  of  our  public  life  either  do  not  know  or  do 
not  wish  to  know  the  shocks  and  sufferings  and  renunciations 
that  have  been  mine,  and  of  which  their  peaceful  '  wage-slave  ' 
has  no  conception." 

Freia  snuggled  closer  up  to  Christian,  licked  his  hand,  and 
her  eyes  begged  humbly  for  a  look.  The  beast's  dumb  tender- 
ness soothed  him.  He  frowned,  and  said  laconically:  "  If  it  is 
so,  and  you  feel  it  so  keenly,  why  do  you  go  on  working?  " 

"  There  is  such  a  thing  as  duty,  my  dear  spoiled  boy,  such 
a  thing  as  loyalty  to  a  cause,"  Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  answered, 
and  a  gleam  of  anger  showed  in  his  pale-blue  eyes.  "  Every 
peasant  clings  to  the  bit  of  earth  into  which  he  has  put  his 
toil.  When  I  began  to  work,  our  country  was  still  a  poor 
country;  to-day  it  is  rich.  I  shall  not  say  that  what  I  have 
accomplished  is  considerable,  when  compared  to  the  sum  of 
our  national  accomplishment,  but  it  has  counted.  It  is  a  symp- 
tom of  our  rise,  of  our  young  might,  of  our  economic  welfare. 
We  are  one  of  the  very  great  nations  now,  and  have  a  body  as 
well  as  a  countenance." 


188          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

"  What  you  say  is  doubtless  most  true,"  Christian  answered. 
"Unhappily  I  have  no  instinct  for  such  matters;  my  person- 
ality is  defective  in  things  of  that  kind." 

"  A  quarter  of  a  century  ago  your  fate  would  have  been 
that  of  a  bread  earner,"  Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  continued,  with- 
out reacting  to  Christian's  words.  "  To-day  you  are  a  descend- 
ant and  an  heir.  Your  generation  looks  upon  a  changed  world 
and  age.  We  older  men  have  fastened  wings  upon  your 
shoulders,  and  you  have  forgotten  how  painful  it  is  to  creep." 

Christian,  in  a  sombre  longing  for  the  warmth  of  some  body., 
took  the  dog's  head  between  his  hands,  and  with  a  grunt  of 
gratitude  she  raised  herself  up  and  laid  her  paws  on  his 
shoulders.  With  a  smile,  that  included  his  petting  of  the  dog, 
he  said:  "  No  one  refuses  the  good  things  that  fall  into  his  lap. 
It  is  true  I  have  never  asked  whence  everything  comes  and 
whither  it  tends.  To  be  sure,  there  are  other  ways  of  living; 
and  I  may  yet  embrace  one  of  them  some  day.  Then  it  will 
be  apparent  whether  one  becomes  another  man,  and  what  kind, 
when  the  supports  or  the  wings,  as  you  put  it,  are  gone." 
His  face  had  grown  serious. 

Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  suddenly  felt  himself  rather  helpless 
before  this  handsome,  proud  stranger  who  was  his  son.  To 
hide  his  embarrassment,  he  answered  hastily:  "  A  different  way 
of  living — that  is  just  what  I  mean.  It  was  the  conviction  that 
a  life  which  is  nothing  but  a  chain  of  trifles  must  in  the  end 
become  a  burden,  that  made  me  suggest  a  career  to  you  that  is 
worthier  of  your  powers  and  gifts.  How  would  you  like  the 
profession  of  diplomacy?  Wolfgang  seems  thoroughly  satisfied 
with  the  possibilities  that  he  sees  opening  up  before  him.  It 
is  not  too  late  for  you  either.  It  will  not  be  difficult  to  make 
up  the  time  lost.  Your  name  outweighs  any  title  of  nobility. 
You  would  stay  in  a  suitable  atmosphere;  you  have  large 
means,  the  necessary  personal  qualities  and  relations.  Every- 
thing will  adjust  itself  automatically." 

Christian  shook  his  head.    "  You  are  mistaken,  father,"  he 


THE    SILVER    CORD  189 

said,  softly  but  firmly.  "  I  have  no  capacity  for  anything  like 
that,  and  no  taste  for  it  at  all." 

"  I  suspected  as  much,"  Albert  Wahnschaffe  said,  in  his 
liveliest  manner.  "  Let  us  not  speak  of  it  any  more.  My 
second  proposal  is  far  more  congenial  to  myself.  I  would  en- 
courage you  to  co-operate  in  the  activities  of  our  firm.  My 
plan  is  to  create  a  representative  position  for  you  in  either  our 
home  or  our  foreign  service.  If  you  choose  the  latter  you  may 
select  your  own  field  of  activity — Japan,  let  us  say,  or  the 
United  States.  We  would  furnish  you  with  credentials  that 
would  make  your  position  very  independent.  You  would  assume 
responsibilities  that  are  in  no  wise  burdensome,  and  enjoy  all 
the  privileges  of  an  ambassador.  All  that  is  needed  is  your 
consent.  I  shall  arrange  all  details." 

Christian  arose  from  his  chair.  "  I  beg  you  very  earnestly, 
father,  to  drop  that  subject,"  he  said.  His  expression  was  cold 
and  his  eyes  cast  down. 

Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  arose  too.  "  Do  not  be  rash,  Chris- 
tian," he  admonished  his  son.  "  I  shall  not  conceal  the  fact 
that  a  definitive  refusal  on  your  part  would  wound  me  deeply. 
I  have  counted  on  you."  He  looked  at  Christian  with  a  firm 
glance.  But  Christian  was  silent. 

After  a  while  he  asked:  "  How  long  ago  is  it  since  you  were 
at  the  works?  " 

"  It  must  be  three  or  four  years  ago,"  Christian  answered. 

"  It  was  three  years  ago  on  Whitsuntide,  if  I  remember 
rightly,"  Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  said,  with  his  habitual  touch 
of  pride  in  his  memory,  which  was  rarely  at  fault.  "  You  had 
agreed  on  a  pleasure  trip  in  the  Harz  mountains  with  your 
cousin,  Theo  Friesen,  and  Theo  was  anxious  to  pay  a  flying 
visit  to  the  factories.  He  had  heard  of  our  new  welfare  move- 
ment for  workingmen,  and  was  interested  in  it.  But  you 
scarcely  stopped  after  all." 

"  No,  I  persuaded  Theo  to  go  on.  We  had  a  long  way  ahead 
of  us,  and  I  was  anxious  to  get  to  our  quarters." 


igo          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Christian  remembered  the  whole  incident  now.  Evening 
had  come  before  the  car  drove  through  the  streets  of  the  fac- 
tory village.  He  had  yielded  to  his  cousin's  wish,  but  sud- 
denly his  aversion  for  this  world  of  smoke  and  dust  and  sweat 
and  iron  had  awakened.  He  had  not  wanted  to  leave  the  car, 
and  had  ordered  the  driver  to  speed  up. 

Nevertheless  he  recalled  the  hellish  music  made  up  of  beaten 
steel  and  whirring  wheels.  He  could  still  hear  the  thundering, 
whistling,  wheezing,  screeching,  hissing;  he  could  still  see  the 
swift  procession  of  forges,  cylinders,  pumps,  steam-hammers, 
furnaces,  of  all  kinds ;  the  thousands  of  blackened  faces,  a  race 
that  seemed  made  of  coal  in  the  breath  of  the  fierce  glow  of 
white  and  crimson  fires;  misty  electric  moons  that  quivered  in 
space;  vehicles  like  death  barrows  swallowed  up  in  the  violet 
darkness;  the  workingmen's  homes,  with  their  appearance  of 
comfort,  and  their  reality  of  a  bottomless  dreariness ;  the  baths, 
libraries,  club-houses,  creches,  hospitals,  infants'  homes,  ware- 
houses, churches,  and  cinemas.  The  stamp  of  force  and  servi- 
tude, of  all  that  is  ugliest  on  earth,  was  bedizened  and  tinted  in 
fair  colours  here,  and  all  menaces  were  throttled  and  fettered. 

Young  Friesen  had  exhausted  himself  with  admiration,  but 
Christian  had  not  breathed  freely  again  until  their  car  was 
out  on  the  open  road  and  had  left  the  flaring  horror  in  its 
panic  flight. 

"  And  you  have  not  been  there  since?  "  Albrecht  Wahn- 
schaffe  asked. 

"  No,  not  since  that  day." 

For  a  while  they  stood  opposite  each  other  in  silence. 
Albrecht  Wahnschaffe  took  Freia  by  her  collar,  and  said  with 
notable  self-control:  "  Take  counsel  with  yourself.  There  is 
time.  I  shall  not  urge  you  unduly,  but  rather  wait.  When  you 
come  to  weigh  the  circumstances,  and  test  your  own  mind, 
you  will  realize  that  I  have  your  welfare  at  heart.  Do  not 
answer  me  now.  When  you  have  made  a  clear  decision — 
let  me  know  what  it  is." 


THE    SILVER    CORD  191 

"  Have  I  your  permission  to  retire?  "  Christian  asked.    His 
father  nodded,  and  he  bowed  and  left  the  room. 
Next  morning  he  returned  to  Christian's  Rest. 

xvni 

In  a  side  street  of  the  busiest  quarter  of  Buenos  Ayres,  there 
stood  a  house  that  belonged  to  the  Gunderam  family.  The 
parents  of  Gottlieb  Gunderam  had  bought  it  when  they  came 
to  the  Argentine  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century.  In 
those  days  its  value  had  been  small,  but  the  development  of 
the  city  had  made  it  a  considerable  property.  Gottfried  Gun- 
deram received  tempting  offers  for  it,  not  only  from  private 
dealers,  but  from  the  municipality.  The  rickety  house  was  to 
be  torn  down,  and  to  be  replaced  by  a  modern  apartment 
house. 

But  Gottfried  Gunderam  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  offers. 
"  The  house  in  which  my  mother  died,"  he  declared,  "  shall  not 
be  sold  to  strangers  so  long  as  the  breath  is  in  my  body." 

This  determination  did  not  arise  so  much  from  filial  piety, 
as  from  a  superstition  that  was  powerful  enough  to  silence  even 
his  greed.  He  feared  that  his  mother  would  arise  from  her 
grave  and  avenge  herself  on  him,  if  he  permitted  the  family's 
ancestral  home  to  be  sold  and  destroyed.  Wealth,  good 
harvests,  a  great  age,  and  general  well-being  were,  in  his 
opinion,  dependent  on  his  action  in  this  matter.  He  would  not 
even  allow  strangers  to  enter  the  house. 

His  sons  and  kinsmen  mockingly  called  it  the  Escurial. 
Gottfried  Gunderam  took  no  notice  of  their  jeers,  but  he  him- 
self had,  gradually  and  quite  seriously,  slipped  into  the  habit 
of  calling  the  house  the  Escurial. 

One  day,  long  before  his  voyage  to  Germany,  Stephen  had 
cleverly  taken  advantage  of  his  father  in  an  hour  when  the 
old  man  was  tipsy  and  merry,  and  had  extorted  a  promise  that 
the  Escurial  was  to  be  his  upon  his  marriage.  When  he  came 
home  with  Letitia  he  counted  upon  the  fulfilment  of  this 


i92          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

promise.  He  intended  to  establish  himself  as  a  lawyer  in 
Buenos  Ayres,  and  restore  the  neglected  house. 

He  reminded  his  father  of  the  compact.  The  old  man  denied 
it  bluntly.  He  winked  gravely.  "  Can  you  show  me  any 
record — black  on  white?  Well,  then,  what  do  you  want? 
A  fine  lawyer  you  are  to  think  that  you  can  enforce  an  agree- 
ment of  which  there  is  no  record!  " 

Stephen  did  not  reply.  But  from  time  to  time — coldly, 
methodically,  calmly — he  reminded  the  old  man  of  his 
promise. 

The  old  man  said:  "  The  woman  you  have  married  is  not  to 
my  taste.  She  doesn't  fit  into  our  life.  She  reads  and  reads. 
It's  sickening.  She's  a  milk-faced  doll  without  sap.  Let  her 
be  content  with  what  she  has.  I  shan't  be  such  a  fool  as  to 
plunge  into  expenditures  on  your  account.  It  would  cost  a 
pretty  penny  to  make  the  Escurial  habitable.  And  I  have  no 
cash.  Absolutely  none." 

Stephen  estimated  the  available  capital  of  his  father  as 
amounting  to  between  four  and  five  millions.  "  You  owe  me 
my  patrimony,"  he  answered. 

"  I  owe  you  a  damned  good  thrashing!  "  the  old  man  replied 
grimly. 

"  Is  that  your  last  word?  " 

The  old  man  answered:  "  Far  from  it.  I  won't  speak  my  last 
word  for  a  dozen  years.  But  I  like  peace  at  home,  and  so  I'll 
make  a  bargain  with  you.  Whenever  your  wife  gives  birth 
to  a  man-child,  you  shall  have  the  Escurial,  and  fifty  thousand 
pesos  to  boot." 

"  Give  me  the  promise  in  writing!  Black  on  white  counts 
— as  you  yourself  said." 

The  old  man  laughed  a  dry  laugh.  "  Good!  "  he  cried,  and 
winked  with  both  eyes.  "  You're  improving.  Glad  to  see 
that  the  money  spent  on  your  legal  studies  wasn't  quite 
wasted."  With  a  sort  of  glee  he  sat  down  at  his  desk,  and 
made  out  the  required  document. 


THE    SILVER   CORD  193 

A  few  weeks  later  Stephen  said  to  Letitia:  "  Let  us  drive 
to  the  city.  I  want  to  show  you  the  Escurial." 

The  only  living  creature  in  that  house  was  a  mulatto  woman 
ninety  years  old.  To  rouse  her  one  had  to  throw  stones  against 
the  wooden  shutters.  Then  she  appeared,  bent  almost  double, 
half-blind,  clothed  in  rags,  a  yellow  growth  on  her  forehead. 

The  street,  which  had  been  laid  out  a  century  before,  was 
a  yard  deeper  than  the  more  recent  ones;  and  Stephen  and 
Letitia  had  to  use  a  short  ladder  to  reach  the  door  of  the  house. 
Within  everything  was  mildewed  and  rotten,  the  furniture  and 
the  floors.  In  the  corners  the  spiders'  webs  were  like  clouds, 
and  fat  hairy  spiders  sat  in  them  peacefully.  The  wall-paper 
was  in  rags,  the  window-panes  were  broken,  and  the  fire-places 
had  caved  in. 

But  in  the  room  in  which  the  mother  of  Gunderam  had  died, 
there  stood  a  beautiful  inlaid  table,  an  antique  piece  from  a 
convent  of  Siena.  The  mosaic  showed  two  angels  inclining 
palm-branches  toward  each  other,  and  between  the  two  sat 
an  eagle.  Upon  the  table  lay  the  dead  woman's  jewels. 
Brooches  and  chains,  rings  and  ear-rings  and  bracelets,  had 
lain  here  dust-covered  for  many,  many  years.  The  reputation 
of  the  old  house  as  being  haunted  had  protected  them  more 
effectually  than  barred  windows. 

Letitia  was  frightened,  and  thought:  "  Am  I  to  live  here 
where  ghosts  may  appear  at  night  to  don  their  old  splendour?  " 

But  when  Stephen  explained  his  plans  for  rebuilding  and 
redecorating,  she  recovered  her  gaiety,  and  her  imagination 
transformed  these  decayed  rooms  into  inviting  chambers  and 
dainty  boudoirs,  cool  halls  with  tall  windows  and  airy,  carpeted 
stairs. 

"  It  depends  quite  simply  on  you  whether  we  can  have  a 
happy  and  beautiful  home  very  soon,"  Stephen  declared.  "  I'm 
doing  my  share.  I  wish  I  could  say  the  same  of  you." 

Letitia  looked  away.  She  knew  the  condition  which  old 
Gunderanrhad  made. 


194          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Again  and  again  she  had  to  disappoint  Stephen.  The 
Escuriai  lay  in  its  deathlike  sleep,  and  her  husband's  face  grew 
more  and  more  sombre.  He  sent  her  to  church  to  pray;  he 
strewed  her  bed  with  ground  wall-nuts;  he  made  her  drink  a 
powder  of  bones  dissolved  in  wine.  He  sent  for  an  old  crone 
who  was  gifted  in  magic,  and  Letitia  had  to  stand  naked, 
surrounded  by  seven  tapers,  and  let  the  woman  murmur  over 
her  body.  And  she  went  to  church  and  prayed,  although  she 
had  no  faith  in  her  praying  and  felt  no  devotion  and  knew 
nothing  of  God.  Yet  she  shuddered  at  the  murmurs  of  the 
Italian  witch,  although  when  it  was  all  over,  she  laughed  and 
made  light  of  the  whole  thing. 

In  spirit  she  conceived  the  image  of  the  child  which  her 
body  denied  her.  The  image  was  of  uncertain  sex,  but  of 
flawless  loveliness.  It  had  the  soft  eyes  of  a  deer,  the  features 
of  one  of  Raphael's  angels,  and  the  exquisite  soul  of  an  ode 
by  Holderlin.  It  was  destined  to  great  things,  and  the  dizzy- 
ing curve  of  its  fortune  knew  no  decline.  The  thought  of  this 
dream  child  filled  her  with  vaguely  beautiful  emotions,  and  she 
was  amazed  at  Stephen's  anger  and  growing  impatience.  She 
was  amazed  and  was  conscious  of  no  guilt. 

Stephen's  mother,  who  was  known  as  Dona  Barbara  to 
every  one,  said  to  her  son:  "I  bore  your  father  eight  living 
creatures.  Three  are  dead.  Four  are  strong  men.  We  need 
not  even  count  your  sister  Esmeralda.  Why  is  this  woman 
barren?  Chastise  her,  my  son,  beat  her!  " 

Stephen  gritted  his  teeth,  and  took  up  his  ox-hide  whip. 

XIX 

It  was  evening,  and  Christian  went  to  the  forester's  house. 
The  way  was  very  familiar  to  him  now.  He  did  not  analyze 
the  inner  compulsion  that  drew  him  thither. 

Amadeus  Voss  sat  by  his  lamp  and  read  in  an  old  book. 
Through  the  second  door  of  the  room  the  shadow  of  his  mother 
slipped  away. 


THE    SILVER   CORD  195 

After  a  while  he  asked:  "  Will  you  go  with  me  to-morrow 
to  Nettersheim?  " 

"  What  am  I  to  do  there?  "  Christian  questioned  in  his  turn. 

Amadeus  raised  his  face,  and  his  spectacles  glimmered.  He 
murmured:  "  She  may  be  dead  by  this  time." 

He  drummed  on  his  knees  with  his  fingers.  Since  Christian 
said  nothing,  he  began  to  tell  him  the  story  of  the  woman 
Walpurga,  who  was  in  the  service  of  his  uncle,  the  wealthy 
farmer  Borsche. 

"  She  was  born  in  the  village,  a  cottager's  daughter.  At 
fifteen  she  went  to  the  city.  She  had  heard  of  the  fine  life  one 
leads  there  and  had  great  ambitions.  She  was  in  service  here 
and  there.  Last  she  was  in  the  house  of  a  merchant  whose  son 
seduced  her;  and  of  course,  when  it  was  discovered,  she  was 
driven  out.  So  it  comes  to  pass  that  those  who  are  by  nature 
the  victims  must  bear  a  punishment  in  addition. 

"  She  bore  a  child,  but  the  child  died.  She  fell  deeper  and 
deeper,  until  she  became  a  street- walker.  She  practised  this 
calling  in  Bochum  and  in  Elberfeld.  But  the  life  wore  on  her, 
and  she  fell  ill.  One  day  a  great  home-sickness  came  upon  her. 
She  mustered  her  last  strength,  and  returned  to  her  native 
village.  She  was  penniless  and  weak,  but  she  was  anxious  to 
earn  her  bread,  no  matter  at  what  wage  or  through  what  labour. 

"  But  no  one  would  hire  her.  Her  parents  were  dead  and  she 
had  no  relatives,  so  she  became  a  pubic  charge.  She  was  made 
to  feel  it  grievously.  One  Sunday  the  minister  inveighed 
against  her  from  the  pulpit.  He  did  not  mention  her  name,  but 
he  spoke  of  vile  lives  and  sinks  of  iniquity,  of  visitations  and 
punishments,  and  of  how  the  anger  of  the  Lord  was  visible 
in  an  example  that  was  before  the  eyes  of  all.  Thus  she  was 
branded  and  publicly  delivered  over  to  the  scorn  of  all  people, 
and  she  determined  to  put  an  end  to  her  life.  One  evening, 
as  Borsche  was  returning  from  his  inn,  he  saw  a  woman  lying 
in  the  road  in  dreadful  convulsions.  It  was  Walpurga.  No 
man  was  near.  Borsche  lifted  her  on  his  broad  back,  and 


196          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

carried  her  to  his  farm.  She  confessed  that  she  had  scraped 
the  phosphorus  from  many  matches  and  eaten  it.  The  farmer 
gave  her  milk  as  an  antidote.  She  recovered,  and  was  per- 
mitted to  stay  on  the  farm. 

"  On  some  days  she  could  work,  and  then  she  dragged  herself 
to  the  fields.  On  others  she  couM  not,  and  lay  in  a  remote 
corner.  The  men  servants,  of  whom  there  were  many,  re- 
garded her  body  as  common  property.  Resistance  was  useless. 
Not  until  Borsche  learned  this,  and  blazed  out  in  anger,  did 
things  get  better.  She  was  only  twenty-three,  and  despite  her 
illness  and  the  wretchedness  of  her  life,  she  had  preserved  much 
of  her  youthful  good  looks.  Her  cheeks  had  a  natural  glow 
and  her  eyes  were  clear.  So  whenever  she  could  not  work, 
the  other  maids  fell  upon  her,  and  called  her  a  malingering 
bawd. 

"  Two  weeks  ago  I  happened  to  be  wandering  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Nettersheim,  and  stopped  at  Borsche's  house.  I 
was  well  received  there,  for  the  family  think  highly  of  me  as  a 
future  priest.  They  talked  about  Walpurga.  The  farmer  told 
me  her  story,  and  asked  me  to  have  a  look  at  her  and  give  my 
opinion  as  to  whether  she  was  really  ill.  I  objected,  and  asked 
why  a  physician  had  not  seen  her.  He  said  that  the  doctor 
from  Heftrich  had  examined  her  and  could  find  nothing 
wrong.  So  I  went  to  her.  She  lay  in  a  shed,  separated  from 
the  cows  only  by  a  wooden  partition.  She  was  wrapped  in  an 
old  horse-blanket,  and  a  little  straw  kept  the  chill  of  the 
earth  from  her  body.  Her  healthy  colour  and  her  normal 
form  did  not  deceive  me.  I  said  to  the  farmer:  '  She's  like 
a  guttering  candle.'  He  and  his  wife  seemed  to  believe  me. 
But  when  I  demanded  of  them  that  they  give  the  sick  woman 
decent  lodging  and  care,  they  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and 
said  that  it  was  as  warm  in  the  stable  as  anywhere,  and  that 
there  was  no  sense  in  taking  trouble  or  undergoing  discomfort 
on  account  of  a  creature  who  had  fallen  so  low. 

"  On  the  third  day  I  saw  her  again,  and  I  have  seen  her  on 


THE    SILVER    CORD  197 

every  other  day  since  then.  My  thoughts  could  not  get  rid 
of  her  any  more.  In  all  my  life  no  human  creature  has  so 
tugged  at  my  heart.  She  could  no  longer  get  up;  the  most 
malevolent  had  to  admit  that.  I  sat  with  her  in  the  evil 
smelling  shed  on  a  wooden  bench  near  where  she  lay.  Each 
time  I  came  she  was  happier  to  see  me.  I  picked  wild  flowers 
on  the  way,  and  she  took  them  in  her  hands  and  held  them 
against  her  breast.  They  told  her  who  I  was,  and  gradually 
she  put  many  questions  to  me.  She  wanted  to  know  whether 
there  really  was  an  eternal  life  and  eternal  bliss.  She  wanted 
to  know  whether  Christ  had  died  on  the  cross  for  her  too. 
She  was  afraid  of  the  torments  of  purgatory,  and  said  if  they 
were  as  bad  as  the  torments  men  could  inflict  she  was  sorry 
for  the  immortal  part  of  her.  She  meant  neither  to  re- 
vile men  nor  to  complain  of  them.  She  merely  wanted  to 
know. 

"  And  what  answer  could  I  give  her?  I  assured  her  that 
Christ  had  taken  her  cross  upon  Him  too.  Her  other  questions 
left  me  silent.  One  is  so  dumb  and  desperate  when  a  living 
heart  thirsts  after  truth,  and  the  frozen  Christ  within  would 
melt  into  a  new  day  and  a  new  sun.  They  are  even  now  in 
purgatory  and  ask  when  it  will  begin.  Hidden  in  blackness, 
they  do  not  see  the  dark;  consumed  by  flames,  they  are  un- 
aware of  the  fire.  Where  is  Satan's  true  kingdom — here  or 
elsewhere?  And  can  that  elsewhere  be  upon  any  star  more 
accursed  than  this?  The  poor  man  is  thrust  from  the  wayside, 
the  oppressed  of  the  land  creep  into  hiding;  from  the  cities 
come  the  moans  of  the  dying,  and  the  souls  of  those  who  are 
wounded  to  death  cry  out.  Yet  God  does  not  put  an  end  to  the 
iniquity.  And  is  it  not  written  that  the  Lord  said  to  Satan: 
'  From  whence  comest  thou?  And  Satan  answered  the  Lord, 
and  said,  From  going  to  and  fro  in  the  earth  and  from  walking 
up  and  down  in  it.' 

"  She  confessed  her  sins  to  me,  and  begged  me  to  grant  her 
absolution.  But  nothing  that  seemed  sinful  to  her  seemed  so 


198          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

to  me.  I  saw  the  desolateness  and  loneliness  of  the  world.  I 
saw  the  bleak  rooms  and  the  barren  walls,  the  streets  by  night 
with  their  flickering  lamps,  and  the  men  with  no  compassion 
in  their  eyes.  That  is  what  I  saw  and  what  I  thought  of,  and 
I  took  it  upon  my  conscience  to  absolve  her  from  all  guilt.  I 
set  her  free  and  promised  her  Paradise.  She  smiled  at  me 
and  grasped  my  hand,  and  before  I  could  prevent  her  she  had 
kissed  it.  That  was  yesterday." 

Amadeus  was  silent.  "  That  was  yesterday,"  he  repeated, 
after  a  long  and  meditative  pause.  "  I  did  not  go  to-day,  out 
of  fear  of  her  dying.  Perhaps  she  is  dead  even  now." 

"  If  you  still  want  to  go,  I  am  ready,"  said  Christian  timidly. 
"  I'll  go  with  you.  It's  only  an  hour's  walk. 

"  Then  let  us  go,"  said  Amadeus,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and 
arose. 

xx 

An  hour  later  they  were  in  Borsche's  farm  yard.  The  stable 
door  was  open.  The  men  servants  and  the  maid  servants  stood 
in  front  of  it.  An  old  man  held  a  lantern  high  up,  and  they 
all  stared  into  the  shed.  In  the  dim  and  wavering  light,  their 
faces  showed  a  mixture  of  reverence  and  amazement.  Within, 
on  a  pallet  of  straw,  lay  the  body  of  Walpurga.  Its  cheeks 
were  rosy.  Nothing  in  that  countenance  recalled  death,  but 
only  a  peaceful  sleep. 

On  the  wooden  bench  a  single  candle  was  burning;  but  it 
was  near  extinction. 

Amadeus  Voss  passed  through  that  group  of  men  and  women, 
and  kneeled  at  the  dead  woman's  feet.  The  old  man  who  held 
the  lantern  whispered  something,  and  all  the  men  and  women 
kneeled  down  and  folded  their  hands. 

A  cow  lowed.  After  that  there  was  no  sound  save  from  the 
bells  of  the  unquiet  cattle.  The  darkness  of  the  stable,  the 
face  of  the  dead  woman,  which  was  like  a  face  in  a  painting,  the 
faces  of  the  kneeling  people,  with  their  blunted  foreheads  and 


THE    SILVER    CORD  199 

hard  lips,  in  the  yellow  glimmer  of  the  light — all  these  things 
Christian  beheld,  and  something  melted  in  his  breast. 

He  himself  watched  it  all  from  the  darkness  of  the  yard 
behind. 

When  Amadeus  Voss  joined  Christian,  the  village  carpenter 
came  to  measure  the  dead  woman  for  her  coffin.  They  started 
on  their  homeward  way  in  silence. 

Suddenly  Christian  stopped.  It  was  near  a  tall  mile-post. 
He  grasped  the  post  with  both  hands,  and  bent  his  head  far 
back,  and  gazed  with  the  utmost  intensity  into  the  drifting 
clouds  of  the  night.  Then  he  heard  Amadeus  Voss  say:  "  Is 
it  possible?  Can  such  things  be?  " 

Christian  turned  to  him. 

"  I  have  a  strange  feeling  in  your  presence,  Christian 
Wahnschaffe,"  Voss  said  in  a  repressed  and  toneless  voice. 
And  then  he  murmured  to  himself:  "Is  it  possible?  Can  the 
monstrous  and  incredible  come  to  pass?  " 

Christian  did  not  answer,  and  they  wandered  on. 

XXI 

Crammon  gave  a  dinner.  Not  in  his  own  house;  meetings 
of  a  certain  character  were  impossible  there,  on  account  of  the 
innocent  presence  of  the  two  old  maiden  ladies,  Miss  Aglaia 
and  Miss  Constantine.  The  disillusion  would  have  been  too 
saddening  and  final  to  the  good  ladies,  who  were  as  convinced 
of  the  virtue  of  their  lord  and  protector  as  they  were  of  the 
emperor's  majesty. 

In  former  years  it  had  indeed  sometimes  seemed  to  them  that 
their  adored  one  did  not  always  tread  the  paths  of  entire 
purity.  They  had  closed  an  eye.  Now,  however,  the  dignity 
and  intellectual  resonance  of  his  personality  forbade  any  doubt. 

Crammon  had  invited  his  guests  to  the  private  dining-room 
of  a  well-known  hotel,  in  which  he  was  familiar  and  esteemed. 
The  company  consisted  of  several  young  members  of  the  no- 
bility, to  whom  he  was  under  social  obligations,  and,  as  for 


200          THE  WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

ladies,  there  were  three  beauties,  entertaining,  elegant,  and  yield- 
ing, in  the  precise  degree  which  the  occasion  required.  Cram- 
mon  called  them  his  friends,  but  in  his  treatment  of  them  there 
was  something  languid  and  even  vexed.  He  gave  them  clearly 
to  understand  that  he  was  only  the  business  manager  of  the 
feast,  and  that  his  heart  was  very  far  away. 

No  one,  in  fact,  was  present  to  whom  he  was  not  completely 
indifferent.  Best  of  all  he  liked  the  old  pianist  with  long,  grey 
locks,  who  closed  his  eyes  and  smiled  dreamily  whenever  he 
played  a  melancholy  or  languishing  piece,  just  as  he  had  done 
twenty  years  ago,  when  Crammon  was  still  fired  by  the  dreams 
and  ambitions  of  youth.  He  gave  the  old  man  sweets  and 
cigarettes,  and  sometimes  patted  his  shoulder  affectionately. 

The  table  groaned  under  its  burden  of  food  and  wine.  Pepper 
was  added  to  the  champagne  to  heighten  every  one's  thirst. 
There  were  cherries  in  the  fruit  bowls,  and  the  gentlemen  found 
it  amusing  to  drop  the  pits  down  the  semi-exposed  bosoms  of 
the  ladies.  The  latter  found  it  easier  and  easier,  as  the 
evening  advanced,  to  resist  the  law  of  gravitation,  and  to  dis- 
play their  charming  shoes  and  the  smooth  silks  and  rustling 
laces  of  their  legs  in  astonishingly  horizontal  attitudes.  The 
most  agile  among  them,  a  popular  soubrette,  climbed  on  the 
grand  piano,  and,  accompanied  by  the  grey-haired  musician, 
sang  the  latest  hit  of  the  music  halls. 

The  young  men  joined  in  the  chorus. 

Crammon  applauded  with  just  two  fingers.  "  There  is  a 
sting  in  my  soul,"  he  whispered  into  the  din.  He  got  up  and 
left  the  room. 

In  the  corridor  the  head-waiter  Ferdinand  was  leaning  alone 
and  somewhat  wearily  against  the  frame  of  a  mirror.  A  tender 
intimacy  of  two  decades  bound  Crammon  to  this  man,  who  had 
never  in  his  life  been  indiscreet,  in  spite  of  the  innumerable 
secrets  he  had  overheard. 

"  Bad  times,  Ferdinand,"  Crammon  said.  "  The  world  is 
going  to  the  deuce." 


THE    SILVER    CORD  201 

"  One  must  take  things  as  they  are,  Herr  von  Crammon," 
that  dignified  individual  consoled  him,  and  handed  him  .the 
bill. 

Crammon  sighed.  He  gave  directions  that  if  his  guests 
inquired  after  him,  they  were  to  be  told  that  he  was  indisposed 
and  had  gone  home. 

"  There  is  a  sting  in  my  soul,"  he  said,  when  he  found  him- 
self on  the  street.  He  determined  to  travel  again. 

He  yearned  for  his  friend.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
had  no  friend  but  that  one  who  had  cast  him  off. 

He  yearned  for  Ariel.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  pos- 
sessed no  woman,  because  she  had  not  yielded  to  him  who  was 
his  very  conception  of  genius  and  beauty. 

At  the  door  of  his  house  stood  Miss  Aglaia.  She  had  heard 
him  coming  and  had  hastened  to  meet  him.  It  frightened 
Crammon,  for  the  hour  was  late. 

"  There  is  a  lady  in  the  drawing-room,"  Miss  Aglaia  whis- 
pered. "  She  arrived  at  eight,  and  has  been  waiting  since 
then.  She  besought  us  so  movingly  to  let  her  stay  that  we  had 
not  the  heart  to  refuse.  She  is  a  distinguished  lady,  and  she 
has  a  dear  face " 

"  Did  she  tell  you  her  name?  "  Crammon  asked,  and  the 
thunder-clouds  gathered  on  his  brow. 

"No,  not  exactly " 

"  People  who  enter  my  dwelling  are  required  to  give  their 
names,"  Crammon  roared.  "  Is  this  a  railway  station  or  a 
public  shelter?  Go  in  and  ask  her  who  she  is.  I  shall  wait 
here." 

In  a  few  minutes  Miss  Aglaia  returned  and  said  in  a  com- 
passionate tone:  "  She's  fallen  asleep  in  an  armchair.  But 
you  can  take  a  peep  at  her.  I've  left  the  door  ajar." 

On  tip-toes  Crammon  passed  through  the  hall,  and  peered 
into  the  well-lit  drawing-room.  He  recognized  the  sleeper  at 
once.  It  was  Elise  von  Einsiedel.  She  slept  with  her  head 
leaned  back  and  inclining  a  little  to  one  side.  Her  face  was 


202          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

pale,  with  blue  circles  under  her  eyes,  and  her  left  arm  hung 
down  limply. 

Crammon  stood  there  in  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and  gazed 
at  her  with  sombre  eyes.  "  Unhappy  child !  "  he  murmured. 

He  closed  the  door  with  all  possible  precaution.  Then  he 
drew  Miss  Aglaia  toward  the  door  and  said:  "  The  presence  of 
a  strange  lady  makes  it  unseemly,  of  course,  for  me  to  pass  the 
night  here.  I  shall  find  a  bed  elsewhere.  I  hope  you  appre- 
ciate my  attitude." 

Miss  Aglaia  was  speechless  over  such  purity  and  sternness. 
Crammon  continued:  "  As  early  as  possible  in  the  morning, 
pack  my  bags  and  bring  them  to  meet  me  in  time  to  catch 
the  express  to  Ostende.  And  let  Constantine  come  with  you, 
so  that  I  may  say  good-bye  to  her  as  well.  Let  the  strange 
lady  stay  here  as  long  as  she  desires.  Entertain  her  courte- 
ously and  fulfil  all  her  wishes.  She  has  a  sorrow,  and  deserves 
kindness.  If  she  asks  after  me,  tell  her  that  urgent  affairs 
require  my  presence  elsewhere." 

He  went  out.  Sadly,  and  quite  astonished,  Miss  Aglaia  looked 
after  him.  "  Good-night,  Aglaia,"  he  called  out  once  more. 
Then  the  door  closed  behind  him. 

XXII 

During  the  last  days  of  April  Christian  received  a  telegram 
from  Eva  Sorel.  The  message  read:  "  From  the  third  to  the 
twentieth  of  May,  Eva  Sorel  will  be  at  the  Hotel  Adlon,  Berlin, 
and  feels  quite  sure  that  Christian  Wahnschaffe  will  meet  her 
there." 

Christian  read  the  message  over  and  over.  In  his  inner  and 
in  his  outer  life  all  circumstances  pointed  to  an  approaching 
crisis.  He  knew  that  this  summons  would  be  decisive  in  its 
influence  upon  his  fate.  Its  exact  character  and  the  extent  of 
its  power  he  could  not  predict. 

For  weeks  there  had  been  a  restlessness  in  him  that  robbed 
him  of  sleep  during  many  long  hours  of  the  night.  On 


THE    SILVER    CORD  203 

certain  days  he  had  called  for  his  motor  in  order  to  drive  to 
some  near-by  city.  When  the  car  had  covered  half  the  distance, 
he  ordered  his  chauffeur  to  turn  back. 

He  had  gone  to  Waldleiningen,  and  had  patted  his  horses 
and  played  with  his  dogs.  But  he  had  suddenly  felt  like  a 
schoolboy  who  lies  and  plays  truant,  and  his  pleasure  in  the 
animals  had  gone.  At  parting  he  had  put  his  arms  about  his 
favourite  dog,  a  magnificent  Great  Dane,  and  as  he  looked  into 
the  animal's  eyes  it  had  seemed  to  Christian,  still  in  his  char- 
acter of  a  truant,  that  he  wanted  to  say:  "  I  must  first  go 
and  pass  my  examination."  And  the  dog  seemed  to  answer: 
"  I  understand  that.  You  must  go." 

Also  the  slender  horse  of  Denis  Lay  had  said,  with  a  turn 
of  its  excessively  graceful  neck:  "  I  understand  that.  You 
must  go." 

It  was  settled  that  the  horse  was  to  run  in  the  races  at 
Baden-Baden,  and  the  Irish  jockey  was  full  of  confidence. 
But  on  the  day  of  his  departure  Christian  was  told  that  the 
animal  had  sickened  again.  He  thought:  "  I  have  loved  it  too 
insistently.  Now  it  wants  the  caressing  hand,  and  is  lonely 
without  it." 

With  the  coming  of  spring  guests  from  the  cities  had 
appeared  almost  daily  at  Christian's  Rest.  But  he  had  rarely 
received  any  one.  A  single  guest  he  could  not  bear  at  all.  If 
there  were  two  they  could  address  each  other  and  make  his 
silence  easier. 

One  day  came  Conrad  von  Westernach  and  Count  Prosper 
Madruzzi,  bringing  messages  from  Crammon.  They  were  on 
their  way  to  Holland.  Christian  asked  them  to  dine  with  him, 
but  he  was  very  laconic.  Conrad  von  Westernach  remarked 
later,  in  his  forthright  fashion,  to  Madruzzi:  "  That  fellow  has 
a  damned  queer  smile.  You  never  know  whether  he's  a  born 
fool  or  whether  he's  laughing  at  you." 

"  It's  true,"  the  count  agreed ;  "  you  never  know  where  you 
are  with  him." 


204         THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

XXIII 

Christian  had  given  his  valet  orders  to  prepare  for  his  jour- 
ney. Then  he  had  gone  to  the  green-houses  to  interview  the 
gardeners.  In  the  meantime  twilight  had  set  in.  It  had  rained 
all  day,  and  the  trees  were  still  dripping.  But  now  the  fresh 
greenery  gleamed  against  the  afterglow,  and  the  windows  of 
the  beautiful  house  were  dipped  in  gold. 

"  Herr  Voss  is  in  the  library,"  an  old  footman  announced. 

Christian  had  begged  Amadeus  Voss  to  use  the  library  quite 
freely,  whether  he  himself  was  at  home  or  not.  The  servants 
had  been  instructed.  Voss  had  offered  to  catalogue  the  library, 
but  as  yet  he  had  made  no  beginning.  He  merely  passed  from 
book  to  book,  and  if  one  interested  him  he  read  it  and  forgot 
the  passage  of  time. 

The  afterglow  fell  into  the  library  too.  Voss  had  taken 
fifty  or  sixty  volumes  from  the  shelves,  and  he  was  now  arrang- 
ing them  in  stacks  on  a  large  oak  table. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that,  Amadeus?  "  Christian  asked  care- 
lessly. 

"  If  you  give  me  your  permission,  I'd  like  to  burn  these," 
Amadeus  Voss  answered. 

Christian  was  surprised.     "  Why?  "  he  asked. 

"  Because  I  lust  after  an  auto-da-fe.  It  is  worthless  and 
corrupt  stuff,  the  product  of  idle  and  slothful  minds.  Don't 
you  scent  the  poison  of  it  in  the  atmosphere?  " 

"  No,  I  scent  nothing,"  said  Christian,  more  absent-mindedly 
than  ever.  "  But  burn  them  if  it  amuses  you,"  he  answered. 

Amadeus  had  been  in  the  library  since  three  o'clock  that 
afternoon,  and  he  had  had  a  remarkable  experience  there.  In 
looking  about  among  the  shelves  he  had  come  upon  a  bundle 
of  letters.  By  some  accident  it  had  probably  fallen  behind 
the  books  and  been  lost  sight  of.  He  had  read  a  few  lines  of 
the  topmost  letter,  and  from  the  first  words  there  breathed 
upon  him  the  glow  of  an  impassioned  soul.  Then  he  had 


THE    SILVER    CORD  205 

yielded  to  the  temptation  of  untying  the  package.  He  had 
taken  the  letters  into  a  corner,  and  read  them  swiftly  and 
with  fevered  eyes. 

A  few  bore  dates.  The  whole  series  had  been  written  about 
two  years  before.  They  were  signed  merely  by  the  initial  F. 
But  in  every  word,  in  every  image,  in  every  turn  of  speech 
there  was  such  a  fullness  of  love  and  devotion  and  adoration  and 
self-abnegation,  and  so  wild  and  at  the  same  time  so  spiritual 
a  stream  of  tenderness  and  pain,  of  happiness  and  yearning, 
that  Amadeus  Voss  seemed  to  glide  from  a  world  of  shadows 
and  appearances  into  a  far  more  real  one.  Yet  in  that,  too, 
all  was  but  feigned  and  represented  to  lure  and  madden  him. 

And  F. — this  unknown,  eloquent,  radiant,  profoundly  moved 
and  nameless  woman — where  was  she  now?  What  had  she 
done  with  her  love?  Pressed  flowers  lay  between  certain 
pages.  Was  the  hand  that  plucked  them  withered  as  they? 
And  what  had  he  done  with  her  love,  he  whom  she  had  wooed 
so  humbly  and  who  was  so  riotous  a  spendthrift  of  great 
gifts?  He  had  been  only  twenty.  He  had  probably  taken  as 
a  pastime  all  that  was  the  fate  of  this  full  heart,  and  had 
used  it  and  trampled  it  in  a  consciousness  of  wealth  that 
neither  counts  nor  reckons.  , 

Deeper  and  deeper,  as  he  read,  a  spear  penetrated  into  the 
breast  of  Amadeus.  The  Telchines  gained  power  over  him. 
He  turned  pale  and  crimson.  His  fingers  trembled,  and  his 
mouth  shrivelled  in  dryness,  and  his  head  seemed  to  be  full 
of  needles.  Had  Christian  entered  then,  he  would  have  flung 
himself  upon  him  in  foaming  hatred,  to  throttle  or  to  stab  him. 
Here  was  the  unattainable,  the  eternally  closed  door.  And  a 
demon  had  hurled  him  down  before  it. 

He  sat  long  in  dull  brooding.  Then  he  looked  about  fur- 
tively, and  dropped  the  letters  into  his  pocket.  And  then  there 
arose  in  him  the  desire  to  destroy,  to  annihilate  something. 
He  chose  books  as  sacrifices,  and  awaited  Christian's  coming 
with  repressed  excitement. 


206          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  It's  practically  all  contemporary  trash,"  he  said  drily,  and 
pointed  to  the  books.  "  Stories  like  tangled  thread,  utterly 
confused,  without  beginning  or  end.  If  you've  read  one  page, 
you  know  a  thousand.  There  are  descriptions  of  manners 
with  a  delight  in  what  is  common  and  mean.  The  emotions 
riot  like  weeds,  and  the  style  is  so  noisy  that  you  lose  all  per- 
ception. Love,  love,  love!  That's  one  theme.  And  the  other 
is  wretchedness!  There  are  histories  and  memoirs,  too.  Sheer 
gossip!  The  poems  are  empty  rhymings  by  people  with  inflated 
egos.  There's  popular  philosophy — self-righteous  twaddle.  A 
sincere  parson's  talk  were  more  palatable.  What  is  it  for? 
Reading  is  a  good  thing,  if  a  real  spirit  absorbs  me,  and  I 
forget  and  lose  myself  in  it.  But  the  unspiritual  has  neither 
honesty  nor  imagination;  he  is  a  thief  and  a  swindler." 

"  Burn  it,  burn  it!  "  Christian  repeated,  and  sat  down  at 
the  other  side  of  the  room. 

Amadeus  went  to  the  marble  fire-place,  which  was  so  large 
that  a  man  could  easily  have  lain  down  in  it,  and  opened  the 
gates  of  brass.  Then  he  carried  the  books  there — one  pile 
after  another,  and  heaped  them  on  the  flat  stones.  When  he 
had  thrown  them  all  in,  he  set  fire  to  the  pages  of  one  book, 
and  lowered  his  head  and  watched  the  flames  spread. 

"  You  know  that  I  am  going  to  leave  Christian's  Rest," 
Christian  said,  turning  to  him.  It  had  grown  quite  dark 
now. 

Voss  nodded. 

"  I  don't  know  for  how  long,"  Christian  continued.  "  It 
may  be  very  long  before  I  return." 

Amadeus  Voss  said  nothing. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Amadeus?  "  Christian  asked 
him. 

Voss  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Involuntarily  he  pressed  his 
hand  against  the  inner  pocket  in  which  lay  the  letters  of  the 
unknown  woman. 

"  It  is  dark  and  oppressive  in  the  forester's  house,"  said 


THE    SILVER    CORD  207 

Christian.  "  Won't  you  come  and  live  here?  I'll  give  the 
necessary  orders  at  once." 

"  Don't  make  me  a  beggar  with  your  alms,  Christian  Wahn- 
schaffe,"  Voss  answered.  "  If  you  were  to  give  me  the  house, 
with  all  its  forests  and  gardens,  you  would  but  rob  me,  and 
leave  me  poorer  by  so  much." 

"  I  don't  understand  that,"  said  Christian. 

Voss  walked  up  and  down.  The  carpet  muffled  his  sturdy 
tread. 

"  You  are  far  too  passsionate,  Amadeus,"  Christian  said. 

Amadeus  stopped  in  front  of  a  lectern  that  had  been  placed 
in  a  niche.  Upon  it  lay  the  great  Bible  that  Christian  had 
bought.  It  was  open.  The  flames  of  the  burning  books  flared 
so  brightly  that  he  could  read  the  words.  For  a  space  he  read 
in  silence.  Then  he  took  the  book,  and  going  nearer  to  the 
fire,  sat  down  opposite  Christian,  and  read  aloud: 

"  Rejoice,  O  young  man,  in  thy  youth,  and  let  thy  heart 
cheer  thee  in  the  days  of  thy  youth,  and  walk  in  the  ways 
of  thine  heart  and  in  the  sight  of  thine  eyes:  but  know  thou 
that  for  all  these  things  God  will  bring  thee  into  judgment." 

At  the  word,  God,  the  almost  unemphatic  voice  sounded 
like  a  bell. 

"  Remember  now  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy  youth,  while 
the  evil  days  come  not,  nor  the  years  draw  nigh,  when  thou 
shalt  say,  I  have  no  pleasure  in  them;  while  the  sun,  or  the 
light,  or  the  moon,  or  the  stars  be  not  darkened,  nor  the  clouds 
return  after  the  rain:  In  the  day  when  the  keepers  of  the 
house  shall  tremble,  and  the  strong  men  shall  bow  themselves, 
and  the  grinders  cease  because  they  are  few,  and  those  that 
look  out  of  the  windows  be  darkened,  and  the  doors  shall  be 
shut  in  the  streets ;  when  the  sound  of  the  grinding  is  low,  and 
he  shall  rise  up  at  the  voice  of  the  bird,  and  all  the  daughters 
of  music  shall  be  brought  low;  also  when  they  shall  be  afraid 
of  that  which  is  high,  and  fears  shall  be  in  the  way,  and  the 
almond  tree  shall  flourish,  and  the  grasshopper  shall  be  a 


208          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

burden  and  desire  shall  fail:  because  man  goeth  to  his  long 
home,  and  the  mourners  go  about  the  street:  or  ever  the  silver 
cord  be  loosed,  or  the  golden  bowl  be  broken,  or  the  pitcher 
be  broken  at  the  fountain,  or  the  wheel  broken  at  the 
cistern."  .  .  . 

He  stopped.  Christian,  who  had  seemed  scarcely  to  listen, 
had  arisen  and  come  nearer  to  the  fire.  Now  he  sat  down  on 
the  floor,  with  his  legs  crossed  under  him,  and  gazed  with  a 
serene  wonder  into  the  flames. 

"  How  beautiful  is  fire!  "  he  said  softly. 

Speechlessly  Amadeus  Voss  regarded  him.  Then  he  spoke 
quite  suddenly.  "  Let  me  go  with  you,  Christian  Wahnschaffe." 

Christian  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  fire. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  Voss  said  more  insistently.  "  It  is 
possible  that  you  may  need  me:  it  is  certain  that  without  you 
I  am  lost.  Darkness  is  in  me  and  a  demon.  You  alone  break 
the  spell.  I  do  not  know  why  it  is  thus,  but  it  is.  Let  me  go 
with  you." 

Christian  replied:  "  Very  well,  Amadeus,  you  shall  stay  with 
me.  I  want  some  one  to  stay  with  me." 

Amadeus  grew  pale,  and  his  lips  quivered. 

Christian  said:    "How  beautiful  is  fire!" 

And  Amadeus  murmured:  "It  devours  uncleanness  and 
remains  clean." 


THE  NAKED  FEET 


WITH  her  companion,  Fraulein  Stohr,  the  Countess  Brainitz 
travelled  about  the  world. 

She  had  been  the  guest  of  an  incredibly  aged  Princess  Neu- 
kirch  at  Berchtesgaden.  But  she  grew  to  be  immensely  bored, 
and  fled  to  Venice,  Ravenna,  and  Florence.  Armed  with  a 
Baedeker,  and  accompanied  by  a  guide,  she  "  did  "  the  galler- 
ies, churches,  basilicas,  palaces,  sarcophagi,  and  monuments, 
and  her  tirelessness  reduced  Fraulein  Stohr  to  despair. 

She  quarrelled  with  the  gondoliers  over  their  fare,  with 
waiters  over  a  tip,  with  shopkeepers  over  the  price  of  their 
wares.  She  thought  every  coin  a  counterfeit,  and  in  her  terror 
of  dirt  and  infection  she  touched  no  door-knob  or  chair,  no 
newspaper  and  no  one's  hand.  She  washed  herself  repeatedly, 
screeched  uninterruptedly,  and  by  her  appetite  struck  her  com- 
panions at  the  table  d'hote  with  awe. 

With  rancour  in  her  heart  she  left  the  land  of  miracles 
and  of  petty  fraud.  She  visited  her  nephews,  the  brothers 
Stojenthin,  in  Berlin.  They  were  charmed  at  her  coming, 
and  borrowed  a  thousand  marks  of  her  over  the  oysters  and 
champagne.  Then  she  proceeded  to  Stargard,  to  be  with  her 
sisters  Hilde  Stojenthin  and  Else  von  Febronius. 

She  was  vastly  amused  at  the  middle-class  ladies  in  Star- 
gard, who  curtsied  to  her  as  to  a  queen.  At  their  teas  she 
lorded  it  over  them  from  the  heights  of  a  sofa  covered  with 
dotted  calico.  She  entertained  her  devoutly  attentive  audience 
with  stories  of  the  great  world.  At  times  these  anecdotes  were 
of  such  a  character  that  the  judge's  widow  had  to  administer 
a  warning  pinch  to  the  arm  of  her  noble  sister. 

209 


210          THE  WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

.  Frau  von  Febronius  had  been  ailing  since  the  beginning  of 
winter.  Careless  exposure  on  a  sleigh  drive  had  brought  on 
an  attack  of  pneumonia.  The  consequences  threatened  to  be 
grave.  The  countess,  who  not  only  feared  illness  for  herself 
but  hated  it  in  others,  grew  restive  and  talked  of  leaving. 

"  When  my  dear  husband  saw  his  end  approaching,  he  sent 
me  to  Mentone,"  she  told  Fraulein  Stohr.  "  Stupid  and  devoid 
of  understanding  as  he  was — though  not  more  so  than  most 
men — in  this  respect  he  showed  a  praiseworthy  delicacy  of 
feeling.  I  was  simply  not  made  to  bear  the  sight  of  suffering. 
Charity  is  not  among  my  gifts." 

Fraulein  Stohr  assumed  a  pastoral  expression  and  cast  her 
eyes  to  heaven.  She  knew  her  mistress  sufficiently  to  realize 
that  the  anecdote  of  the  dying  count  and  the  expedition  to 
Mentone  was  a  product  of  the  imagination.  She  said:  "  Man 
should  prepare  himself  in  time  for  his  latter  end,  Madame." 

The  countess  was  indignant.  "  My  dear  Stohr,  spare  me 
your  spiritual  wisdom!  It  suits  only  times  of  trouble.  Pas- 
toral consolations  are  not  to  my  taste.  It  is  not  your  proper 
task  to  preach  truths  to  me,  but  to  offer  me  agreeable  illu- 
sions." 

One  evening  Frau  von  Febronius  asked  to  see  the  countess. 
The  latter  went.  But  terror  made  her  pale.  She  put  on  a  hat, 
swathed  her  face  in  a  veil  and  her  hands  in  gloves.  Sighing 
she  sat  down  beside  her  sister's  bed,  and  carefully  measured 
the  distance,  so  as  to  be  out  of  reach  of  the  patient's  breath. 

Frau  von  Febronius  smiled  indulgently.  Her  illness  had 
smoothed  the  lines  of  petty  care  and  sorrow  from  her  face, 
and,  among  her  white  pillows,  she  looked  strikingly  like  her 
daughter  Letitia.  "  I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you,  Marion,"  she 
began,  "  but  I  must  talk  to  you.  There's  something  that  weighs 
on  my  mind,  and  I  must  confide  in  some  one.  The  fact  in 
question  should  be  told  to  one  who  knows  me,  and  should  not 
be  buried  with  me." 

"  I  beseech  you,  Elsie,  my  poor  darling,  don't  talk  of  graves 


THE    NAKED    FEET  211 

and  such  things,"  the  countess  exclaimed  in  a  whining  voice. 
"  My  appetite  will  be  gone  for  a  week.  If  you'll  only  fling  the 
medicine  bottles  out  of  the  window,  and  tell  all  quacks  to  go 
to  the  devil,  you'll  be  well  by  day  after  to-morrow.  And,  for 
heaven's  sake,  don't  make  a  confession.  It  reminds  one  of 
quite  dreadful  things." 

But  Frau  von  Febronius  went  on:  "  It's  no  use,  Marion. 
I  must  tell  you  this.  The  reason  I  turn  to  you  is  because 
you've  really  been  so  very  good  and  kind  to  Letitia,  and 
because  Hilde,  sensible  and  faithful  as  she  is,  wouldn't  quite 
understand.  Her  notions  are  too  conventional." 

In  whispers  she  now  related  the  story  of  Letitia's  birth.  An 
illness  of  his  earlier  years  had  deprived  her  husband  of  the  hope 
of  posterity;  but  he  had  yearned  for  a  son,  a  child.  This 
yearning  had  finally  silenced  all  scruples  and  all  contradictory 
emotions  to  such  an  extent  that  he  had  chosen  a  congenial 
stranger  to  continue  his  race.  He  had  persuaded  her,  his 
wife,  whom  he  loved  above  all  things,  after  a  long  struggle. 
Finally  she  had  yielded  to  his  unheard-of  demand.  But  when 
the  child  was  born,  a  progressive  melancholy  had  seized  upon 
her  husband.  It  had  become  incurable,  and  under  its  control 
he  had  ruined  his  estate  and  in  the  end  himself.  He  had  felt 
nothing  of  the  happiness  he  had  expected.  He  had,  on  the 
contrary,  always  shown  a  contemptuous  dislike  of  Letitia,  and 
had  avoided  her  as  far  as  possible. 

"  It  doesn't  surprise  me  a  bit,"  the  countess  remarked. 
"  You  were  uncommonly  naive  to  be  astonished.  A  strange 
child  is  a  strange  child,  no  matter  how  it  got  into  the  nest. 
But  it's  really  like  a  fairy  tale.  I  confess  I  underestimated 
you.  Such  delightful  sophistication!  And  who  is  the  child's 
father?  Who  is  responsible  for  the  life  of  that  darling  angel? 
He  deserves  great  credit  for  his  achievement." 

Frau  von  Febronius  mentioned  the  name.  The  countess 
screamed,  and  leaped  up  as  though  she  had  been  stung. 
"  Crammon?  Bernard  von  Crammon?  "  She  clasped  her 


212          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

hands  in  agony.  "  Is  that  true?  Aren't  you  dreaming? 
Consider,  my  dear!  It  must  be  the  fever.  Oh,  certainly,  it's 
sheer  delirium.  Take  a  little  water,  I  beg  of  you,  and  then 
think  carefully,  and  stop  talking  nonsense." 

Frau  von  Febronius  gazed  at  her  sister  in  utter  amazement. 
"  Do  you  know  him?  "  she  asked. 

The  countess'  voice  was  bitter.  "  Do  I  know  him?  I  do. 
And  tell  me  one  more  thing:  Does  this — this — creature  know? 
Has  he  always  known?  " 

"He  knows.  Two  years  ago  he  saw  Letitia  at  our  old 
home.  Since  that  time  he  has  known.  But  you  act  as  if  he 
were  the  fiend  incarnate,  Marion.  Did  you  have  a  quarrel  with 
him  or  what?  You  always  exaggerate  so!  " 

Excitedly  the  countess  walked  up  and  down.  "He  knows 
it,  the  wretch!  He  has  always  known  it,  the  rogue!  And  such 
dissembling  as  he  has  practised!  Such  hypocrisy!  The 
wretched  rogue,  I'll  bring  it  home  to  him!  I'll  seek  him  out!" 
She  turned  to  her  sister.  "  Forgive  me,  Elsie,  for  letting  my 
temperament  run  away  with  me.  You  are  right.  His  name 
awakened  an  anger  of  some  years'  standing.  'My  blood  boils, 
I  confess.  He  may  have  been  a  man  of  honour  and  a  gentle- 
man in  his  youth.  He  must  have  been,  or  you  would  never 
have  consented  to  such  an  adventure.  But  I  hesitate  to  say 
what  he  is  to-day.  He  is  still  perfectly  discreet;  you  need 
have  no  anxiety  on  that  score.  But  I  assert  that  even  discre- 
tion has  its  limits.  Where  these  are  passed,  decent  people 
shake  their  heads,  and  virtue  looks  like  mere  baseness.  Voila." 

"  All  that  you  say  is  quite  dark  to  me,"  Frau  von  Febronius 
replied  wearily,  "  and  I  really  haven't  any  desire  to  fathom  it. 
I  wanted  to  tell  you  this  oppressive  secret.  Keep  it  to  your- 
self. Never  reveal  it,  except  to  prevent  some  misfortune,  or 
to  render  Letitia  a  service.  I  don't  quite  see  how  either  pur- 
pose will  ever  be  served  by  a  revelation.  But  it  consoles  me 
that  one  other  human  being,  beside  myself  and  that  man,  knows 
the  truth." 


THE    NAKED    FEET  213 

The  countess  gazed  thoughtfully  at  her  sister.  "  Your  life 
wasn't  exactly  a  gay  one,  was  it,  Elsie?  " 

The  sick  woman  answered:    "  No,  hardly  gay." 

During  the  following  days  she  rallied  a  little.  Then  came 
a  relapse  that  left  no  room  for  hope.  In  the  middle  of  March 
she  died. 

By  this  time  the  countess  was  already  far  away.  Her  goings 
and  comings  were  as  purposeless  as  ever.  But  she  nursed  a 
favourite  vision  now.  Some  day  she  would  meet  Crammon, 
confront  him  with  her  knowledge,  avenge  herself  upon  him, 
challenge  him  and  annihilate  him,  in  a  word,  enjoy  a  rich  tri- 
umph. At  times  when  she  was  alone,  or  even  in  the  presence 
of  Miss  Stohr,  whom  it  astonished,  she  would  suddenly  wrinkle 
her  childlike  forehead,  clench  her  little  fists,  and  her  shiny 
face  would  turn  red  as  a  lobster,  and  her  violet-blue  eyes  blaze 
as  for  battle. 

ii 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Felix  Imhof  left 
a  party  in  the  Leopoldstrasse,  where  there  had  been  gaming  for 
high  stakes.  He  had  won  several  thousand  marks,  and  the 
gold  coins  clinked  in  the  overcoat  pocket  into  which  he  had 
carelessly  stuffed  them. 

He  had  had  a  good  deal  to  drink,  too.  His  head  was  a  bit 
heavy.  At  his  first  steps  into  the  fresh  air  he  reeled  a  little. 

Nevertheless  he  was  in  no  mood  to  go  home.  So  he  wan- 
dered into  a  coffee-house  that  was  frequented  by  artists.  He 
thought  he  might  still  find  a  few  people  with  whom  he  could 
chat  and  argue.  The  day  he  had  passed  was  not  yet  full 
enough  of  life  for  him.  He  wanted  it  brimming. 

In  the  room,  which  was  blue  with  smoke,  there  were  only 
two  men,  the  painter  Weikhardt,  who  had  recently  returned 
from  Paris,  and  another  painter,  who  looked  rather  ragged  and 
stared  dejectedly  at  the  table. 

Felix  Imhof  joined  the  two.    He  ordered  cognac  and  served 


214          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

them,  but,  to  his  annoyance,  the  conversation  would  not  get 
started.  He  got  up  and  invited  Weikhardt  to  walk  with  him. 
With  contemptuous  joviality  he  turned  to  the  other:  "Well, 
you  old  paint-slinger,  your  lamp  seems  about  burned  out!  " 

The  man  didn't  stir.  Weikhardt  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  said  softly:  "He  has  no  money  for  bread  and  no  place 
to  sleep." 

Felix  Imhof  plunged  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  threw 
several  gold  coins  on  the  table.  The  painter  looked  up.  Then 
he  gathered  the  gold.  "  Hundred  and  sixty  marks,"  he  said 
calmly.  "  Pay  you  back  on  the  first." 

Imhof  laughed  resoundingly. 

When  they  were  in  the  street,  Weikhardt  said  good- 
naturedly:  "  He  believes  every  word  of  it.  If  he  didn't  abso- 
lutely believe  it,  he  wouldn't  have  taken  the  money.  There  are 
still  eleven  days  before  the  first — time  for  a  world  of  illusions." 

"  It  may  be  that  he  believes  it,"  Imhof  replied,  with  an 
unsteady  laugh,  "  it  may  be.  He  even  believes  that  he  exists, 
and  yet  he's  nothing  but  a  melancholy  corpse.  O  you  painters, 
you  painters!  "  he  cried  out  into  the  silent  night.  "  You  have 
no  feeling  for  life.  Paint  life!  You're  still  sitting  by  a  spin- 
ning-wheel, instead  of  at  some  mighty  wheel  of  steel,  propelled 
by  a  force  of  sixteen  thousand  horse-power.  Paint  my  age 
for  me,  my  huge  delight  in  being!  Smell,  taste,  see,  and  grasp 
that  colossus!  Make  me  feel  that  great  rhythm,  create  my 
grandiose  dreams.  Give  me  life — my  life  and  its  great  affirma- 
tion!" 

Weikhardt  said  drily:  "  I  have  heard  that  talk  before — 
between  midnight  and  dawn.  When  the  cock  crows  we  all 
calm  down  again,  and  every  man  pulls  the  cart  to  which  fate 
has  hitched  him." 

Imhof  stopped,  and  somewhat  theatrically  laid  his  hand  on 
Weikhardt's  shoulder.  He  gazed  at  him  with  his  intensely 
black,  bloodshot  eyes.  "  I  give  you  a  commission  herewith, 
Weikhardt,"  he  said.  "  You  have  talent.  You're  the  only 


THE    NAKED   FEET  215 

one  with  a  mind  above  your  palette.  Paint  my  portrait.  I 
don't  care  what  it  costs — twenty,  fifty  thousand.  Doesn't 
matter.  Take  your  own  time — two  months  or  two  years.  But 
show  me — me — the  innermost  me.  Take  this  vulture's  nose, 
this  Hapsburg  lip,  these  gorilla  arms  and  spindle  shanks,  this 
coat  and  this  chapeau  claque,  and  drag  from  it  all  the  animat- 
ing Idea.  To  hell  with  the  accidents  of  my  phiz,  which  looks 
as  though  an  unskilful  potter  had  bungled  it  in  the  making. 
Render  my  ambition,  my  restlessness,  my  inner  tempo  and 
colourfulness,  my  great  hunger  and  the  time-spirit  that  is  in 
me.  But  you  must  hurry;  for  I  am  self-consumed.  In  a  few 
years  I  shall  have  burned  out.  My  soul  is  tinder.  Render  this 
process  with  the  divine  objectivity  of  art,  and  I'll  reward  you 
like  a  Medici.  But  I  must  be  able  to  see  the  flame,  the  flaring 
up,  the  dying  down,  the  quiver  of  it!  I  want  to  see  it,  even 
if  to  make  me  see  it  you  have  to  lash  the  whole  tradition  since 
Raphael  and  Rubens  into  rags!  " 

"  You  are  an  audacious  person,"  Weikhardt  said,  in  his  dry 
way.  "  But  have  patience  with  us,  and  restrain  your  admira- 
tion for  your  particular  century.  I  do  not  let  the  age  over- 
whelm me  to  the  point  of  folly.  I  do  not  share  the  reverential 
awe  of  speed  and  machinery  that  has  seized  upon  many  young 
men  like  a  new  form  of  epilepsy.  I  haven't  any  attitude 
of  adoration  toward  seven-league  boots,  express  trains,  dread- 
noughts, and  inflated  impressionism.  I  seek  my  gods  else- 
where. I  don't  believe  I'm  the  painter  you're  looking  for. 
Where  were  you?  You've  been  travelling  again?  " 

"  I'm  always  on  some  road,"  Felix  Imhof  replied.  "  It's  a 
crazy  sort  of  life.  Let  me  tell  you  how  I  spent  the  last  five 
days.  Monday  night  I  went  to  Leipzig.  Tuesday  morning 
at  nine  I  had  a  conference  with  some  literary  people  in  regard 
to  the  founding  of  a  new  review.  Splendid  fellows — keen  crit- 
ics and  intellectual  Jacobins,  every  one  of  them.  Then  I  went 
to  an  exhibition  of  majolicas.  Bought  some  charming  things. 
At  noon  I  left  for  Hamburg.  On  the  train  I  read  two  manu- 


216          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

scripts  and  a  drama,  all  by  a  young  genius  who'll  startle  the 
world.  That  evening  attended  a  meeting  of  the  directorate 
of  the  East  African  Development  Corporation.  Festivities 
till  late  that  night.  Slept  two  hours,  then  proceeded  to  Olden- 
burg to  a  reunion  of  the  retired  officers  of  my  old  regiment. 
Talked,  drank,  and  even  danced,  though  the  party  was  stag. 
Six  o'clock  in  the  morning  rushed  to  Quackenbruck,  a  shabby 
little  country  town  on  the  moors,  where  the  officers  had  ar- 
ranged for  a  little  horse  race.  My  beast  was  beaten  by  a  head. 
Drove  to  the  station  and  took  a  train  for  Berlin.  Attended  to 
business  next  morning  in  the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs, 
interviewed  agents,  witnessed  a  curious  operation  in  the  clinic, 
made  a  flying-trip  to  Johannisthal,  where  a  new  aeroplane  was 
tried  out;  went  to  the  Deutsches  Theater  that  evening,  and 
saw  a  marvellous  performance  of  '  Peer  Gynt.'  Drank  the 
night  away  with  the  actors.  Next  morning  Dresden.  Confer- 
ence with  two  American  friends.  Home  to-day.  Next  week 
won't  be  very  different,  nor  the  one  after  that.  I  ought  to 
sleep  more;  that's  the  only  thing."  He  waved  his  thick  bam- 
boo cane  in  air. 

"It  is  enough  to  frighten  any  one,"  said  Weikhardt,  who 
took  more  comfort  in  the  contrast  between  his  own  phlegm 
and  his  companion's  excitement.  "  How  about  your  wife? 
What  does  she  say  to  your  life?  She  was  pointed  out  to  me 
recently.  She  doesn't  look  as  if  she  would  let  herself  be  pushed 
aside." 

Imhof  stopped  again.  He  stood  there,  with  his  legs  far 
apart  and  his  trunk  bent  forward,  and  rested  on  his  cane. 
"My  wife!  "  he  said.  "What  a  sound  that  has!  I  have  a 
wife.  Ah,  yes.  I  give  you  my  word,  my  dear  man,  I  should 
have  clean  forgotten  it  to-night,  if  you  hadn't  reminded  me. 
It's  not  her  fault,  to  be  sure.  She's  a  born  Wahnschaffe;  that 
means  something!  But  somehow  .  .  .  God  knows  what  it 
is — the  damned  rush  and  hurry,  I  suppose.  You're  quite  right. 
She's  not  the  sort  to  be  neglected  or  pushed  to  the  wall.  She 


THE    NAKED   FEET  217 

creates  her  own  spaces,  and  within  these " — he  described 
great  circles  in  the  air  with  his  cane — "  she  dwells,  cool  to  her 
fingertips,  tense  as  a  wire  of  steel.  A  magnificent  character — 
energetic,  but  with  a  strong  sense  for  decorative  effects.  She's 
to  be  respected,  my  dear  man." 

Weikhardt  had  no  answer  ready  for  this  outburst.  Its 
mixture  of  boasting  and  irony,  cynicism  and  ecstatic  excite- 
ment disarmed  and  wearied  him  at  once.  They  had  reached 
a  side  street,  which  led  to  the  Englischer  Garten,  and  in  which 
stood  the  painter's  little  house.  He  wanted  to  say  good-night. 
But  Imhof,  who  seemed  still  unwilling  to  be  alone,  asked: 
"  Are  you  working  at  anything?  " 

Weikhardt  hesitated  before  answering.  That  was  enough 
to  make  Imhof  accompany  him.  The  sky  grew  grey  with  dawn. 

Felix  Imhof  recited  softly  to  himself: 

"  Where  the  knights  repose,  and  streaming 
Banners  fold  at  last  their  gleaming, 
Towers  rise  to  the  way-farers, 
And  the  wanderers  seek  a  spring; 
And  the  lovely  water-bearers 
Lift  a  goblet  to  the  dreaming 
Shadow  of  the  fleeing  king." 

Weikhardt,  who  would  not  yield  to  Imhof  in  a  knowledge  or 
love  of  the  poet  Stefan  George,  continued  the  quotation  in  a 
caressing  voice: 

"  With  a  smile  serene  he  watches, 
Yet  flits  on  with  shyer  seeming, 
For  beneath  him  fades  the  height, 
And  he  fears  all  mortal  touches, 
And  he  almost  dreads  the  light." 

They  entered  the  studio.  Weikhardt  lit  the  lamp,  and  let 
its  glow  fall  upon  a  picture  that  was  not  quite  completed.  It 
was  a  Descent  from  the  Cross. 


2i8          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  Rather  old-fashioned,  isn't  it?  "  Weikhardt  asked,  with 
a  sly  smile.  He  had  grown  pale. 

Imhof  looked.  He  was  a  connoisseur  through  and  through. 
No  other  had  his  eye.  The  painters  knew  it. 

The  picture,  which  reminded  one  of  the  visionary  power  as 
well  as  of  the  brushwork  of  El  Greco,  was  bizarre  in  composi- 
tion, intense  in  movement,  and  filled  with  an  ecstatic  passion. 
The  forms  of  an  old  master,  through  which  the  painter  had 
expressed  himself,  were  but  an  appearance.  The  vision  had 
been  flung  upon  the  canvas  with  a  burning  splendour.  The 
figures  had  nothing  old-fashioned  about  them;  there  was  no 
cliche;  they  were  like  clouds,  and  the  clouds  like  architecture. 
There  were  no  concrete  things.  There  was  a  chaos,  which  drew 
meaning  and  order  only  from  the  concentrated  perceptions  of 
the  beholder. 

Felix  Imhof  folded  his  hands.  "  To  have  such  power,"  he 
murmured.  "  Great  God,  to  have  the  power  to  project  such 
things!" 

Weikhardt  lowered  his  head.  He  attributed  little  signifi- 
cance to  these  words.  A  few  days  before  he  had  stood  in 
front  of  his  canvas,  and  he  had  imagined  that  a  peasant  was 
standing  beside  him — an  old  peasant  or  any  other  simple  man 
of  the  people.  And  it  had  seemed  to  him  that  this  peasant, 
this  humble  man,  who  knew  nothing  of  art,  had  kneeled  down 
to  pray.  Not  from  piety,  but  because  what  he  saw  had  in  its 
own  character  overwhelmed  him. 

Almost  rudely  Imhof  turned  to  the  painter  and  said:  "  The 
picture  is  mine.  Under  all  circumstances.  Mine.  I  must 
have  it.  Good-night."  With  his  top  hat  set  at  a  crazy  angle, 
and  his  sleepless,  dissipated  face,  he  was  a  vision  to  frighten 
one. 

At  last  he  went  home. 

Next  day  Crammon  informed  him  of  his  arrival  in  Munich. 
He  had  come  because  Edgar  Lorm  was  about  to  give  a  series 
of  performances  there. 


THE    NAKED    FEET  219 

in 

Christian  considered  how  he  could  convey  money  to  Amadeus 
Voss  without  humiliating  him.  Since  it  was  agreed  that  they 
travel  together,  it  was  necessary  for  Voss  to  have  the  proper 
outfit;  and  he  possessed  nothing  but  what  he  had  on. 

Amadeus  Voss  understood  the  situation.  The  social  abyss 
yawned  between  them.  Both  men  gazed  helplessly  into  it,  one 
on  each  shore. 

In  his  own  heart  Voss  mocked  at  the  other's  weakness,  and 
at  the  same  time  loved  him  for  his  noble  shame — loved  him 
with  that  emotional  self  that  had  been  humiliated,  estranged 
from  the  world,  stamped  on  and  affronted  from  his  youth  on. 
He  shuddered  at  the  prospect  of  sitting  in  the  forester's  house 
again  with  perished  hopes  and  empty  hands,  and  letting  his 
soul  bleed  to  death  from  the  wounds  of  unattainable  lures.  He 
brooded,  regarding  Christian  almost  with  hatred.  What  will 
he  do?  How  will  he  conquer  the  difficulty? 

Time  passed.    The  matter  was  urgent. 

On  the  last  afternoon  Christian  said:  "The  hours  crawl. 
Let  us  play  cards."  He  took  a  pack  of  French  cards  from  a 
drawer. 

"  I  haven't  touched  a  card  in  my  life,"  Voss  said. 

"  That  doesn't  matter,"  Christian  replied.  "  All  you  need 
do  is  to  tell  red  from  black.  I'll  keep  the  bank.  Bet  on  a 
colour.  If  you've  bet  on  red  and  I  turn  up  red,  you've 
won.  How  much  will  you  risk?  Let  us  start  with  one 
taler." 

"  Very  well,  here  it  is,"  said  Voss,  and  put  the  silver  coin 
on  the  table.  Christian  shuffled  the  cards  and  drew  one.  It 
was  red. 

"  Risk  your  two  talers  now,"  Christian  advised.  "  Novices 
have  luck." 

Voss  won  the  two  talers.  The  betting  continued.  Once  or 
twice  he  lost.  But  finally  he  had  won  thirty  talers. 


220          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  Now  you  take  the  bank,"  Christian  proposed.  He  was 
secretly  pleased  that  his  ruse  was  working  so  well. 

He  bet  ten  talers  and  lost.  Then  fifteen,  then  twenty,  then 
thirty,  and  lost  again.  He  risked  a  hundred  marks,  two  hun- 
dred, five  hundred,  more  and  more,  and  still  lost.  Voss's  cheeks 
turned  hectic  red,  then  white  as  chalk:  his  hands  trembled; 
his  teeth  rattled.  He  was  seized  by  a  terror  that  his  luck 
would  change,  but  he  was  incapable  of  speech  or  of  asking  for 
an  end  of  the  game.  The  bank  notes  were  piled  up  in  front 
of  him.  In  half  an  hour  he  had  won  over  four  thousand  marks. 

Christian  had  previously  marked  the  cards  in  a  manner  that 
no  inexperienced  eye  could  detect.  He  knew  exactly  which 
colour  Voss  would  find.  But  the  curious  thing  was  that,  though 
he  forgot  occasionally  to  watch  the  markings,  Voss  still  won. 

Christian  got  up.  "  We're  in  a  hurry,"  he  said.  "  You  must 
get  ready  for  our  journey,  Amadeus." 

Voss  was  overwhelmed  by  the  change  which  had  come  over 
his  life  within  a  few  minutes.  If  a  spark  of  suspicion  glowed 
in  his  soul,  he  turned  away  from  it,  and  plunged  into  rich 
dreams. 

The  motor  took  them  to  Wiesbaden,  and  there,  with  Chris- 
tian's help,  Amadeus  bought  garments  and  linen,  boots,  hats, 
gloves,  cravats,  a  razor,  a  manicure  set,  and  a  trunk. 

At  ten  o'clock  that  evening  they  sat  in  the  sleeper.  "  Who 
am  I  now?  "  asked  Amadeus  Voss.  He  looked  about  him  with 
a  curious  and  violent  glance,  and  pushed  the  blond  hair  from 
his  forehead.  "  What  do  I  represent  now?  Give  me  an  office 
and  a  title,  Christian  Wahnschaffe,  in  order  that  I  may  know 
who  I  am." 

Christian  watched  the  other's  excitement  with  quiet  eyes. 
"  Why  should  you  think  yourself  another  to-night  or  changed 
from  yesterday?  "  he  asked  in  surprise. 


221 


rv 

Eva  Sorel  passed  through  the  countries  of  Europe — a  comet 
leaving  radiance  in  its  wake. 

Her  day  was  thickly  peopled.  It  needed  the  flexibility  of 
an  experienced  practitioner  to  test  and  grant  the  many-sided 
demands  upon  her.  Monsieur  Chinard,  her  impresario,  served 
admirably  in  this  capacity.  Only  Susan  Rappard  treated 
the  man  morosely.  She  called  him  a  Figaro  pris  a  la 
retraite. 

In  addition,  the  dancer  employed  a  courier  and  a  secretary. 

Several  of  her  adorers  had  been  following  her  from  city  to 
city  for  months.  They  were  Prince  Wiguniewski,  a  middle- 
aged  American,  named  Bradshaw,  the  Marquis  Vicente  Tavera, 
of  the  Spanish  legation  at  Petrograd,  Herr  Distelberg,  a  Jewish 
manufacturer  of  Vienna,  and  Botho  von  Thiingen,  a  very 
young  Hanoverian,  a  student  in  his  second  year. 

These,  as  well  as  others  who  drifted  with  the  group  from 
time  to  time,  neglected  their  callings,  friends,  and  families. 
They  needed  the  air  that  Eva  breathed  in  order  to  breathe 
themselves.  They  had  the  patience  of  petitioners  and  the 
optimism  of  children.  They  were  envious  of  one  another's 
advantage,  knowledge,  and  witticisms.  Each  noted  with  mali- 
cious delight  if  another  blundered.  They  vied  zealously  for  the 
friendship  of  Susan,  and  made  her  costly  presents,  in  order 
that  she  might  tell  them  what  her  mistress  had  said  and  done, 
how  she  had  slept,  in  what  mood  she  had  awakened,  and  when 
she  would  receive. 

Since  Count  Maidanoff  had  joined  Eva's  circle  they  had  all 
been  profoundly  depressed.  They  knew,  everybody  knew,  who 
was  concealed  behind  this  pseudonym.  Against  him — mighty 
and  greatly  feared — no  one  hoped  to  prevail. 

Eva  consoled  them  with  a  smile.  They  counted  for  nothing 
in  her  eyes.  "  How  are  my  chamberlains?  "  she  asked  Susan, 
"  how  do  my  time-killers  kill  their  time?  " 


222          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

But  she  was  not  quite  as  light  and  serene  of  soul  as  she  had 
once  been. 


She  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Count  Maidanoff  in  Trou- 
ville.  She  had  been  presented  to  him  on  the  promenade,  and 
a  far-flung  circle  of  fashionables  had  looked  on.  Careful 
murmurs  had  blended  with  the  thunder  of  the  sea. 

She  came  home  and  grasped  Susan  by  the  shoulders.  "  Don't 
let  me  go  out  again,"  she  said,  pale  and  breathing  heavily.  "  I 
don't  want  to  look  into  those  eyes  again.  I  must  not  meet 
that  man  any  more." 

Susan  exhausted  herself  promising  this.  She  did  not  know 
who  had  awakened  such  horror  in  her  mistress.  "  Elle  est  un 
peu  folle,"  she  said  to  M.  Labourdemont,  the  secretary,  "  mais 
ce  grain  de  folie  est  le  meilleur  de  Fart." 

The  next  day  Count  Maidanoff  announced  his  formal  call, 
and  had  to  be  received. 

The  conventional  act  of  homage,  to  which  he  was  entitled 
by  his  birth,  he  repaid  with  a  personal  and  sincere  one. 

His  speech  was  heavy  and  slow.  He  seemed  to  despise  the 
words,  the  use  of  which  caused  him  such  exertion.  Sometimes 
he  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  and  frowned  in  annoy- 
ance. Between  his  eyebrows  there  were  two  straight,  deep 
lines  that  made  his  face  permanently  sombre.  His  smile  began 
with  an  upward  curl  of  the  lips,  and  quivered  down  into  his 
thin,  colourless  beard,  like  the  effect  of  a  muscular  paralysis. 

He  went  straight  and  without  circumlocution  toward  his  pur- 
pose. It  was  commonly  the  office  of  his  creatures  to  clear  the 
road  toward  his  amatory  adventures.  By  doing  the  wooing 
himself  in  this  instance  he  desired  to  single  out  its  object  by 
an  act  of  especial  graciousness. 

The  cool  timidity  of  the  dancer  had  pleased  him  at  first. 
Fear  was  to  him  the  most  appealing  quality  in  men.  But  Eva's 
repressed  chill  in  the  face  of  his  courteous  proposals  confused 


THE    NAKED    FEET  223 

him.  His  eyes  became  empty,  he  looked  bored,  and  asked  for 
permission  to  light  a  cigarette. 

He  talked  of  Paris,  of  a  singer  at  the  Grand  Opera  there. 
Then  he  became  silent,  and  sat  there  like  some  one  who  has  all 
eternity  ahead  of  him.  When  he  arose  and  took  his  leave,  he 
looked  as  though  he  were  really  asleep. 

With  arms  crossed  Eva  walked  about  the  room  till  evening. 
During  the  night  she  picked  up  books  which  she  did  not  read, 
thought  of  things  that  were  indifferent  to  her,  called  Susan  only 
to  torment  her,  wrote  a  letter  to  Ivan  Becker  and  tore  it  up 
again.  Finally ,in  spite*  of  the  driving  rain,  she  wrapped  her- 
self in  a  cloak  and  went  out  on  the  terrace. 

Maidanoff  repeated  his  visit.  At  the  inevitable  point  Eva 
conveyed  to  him  with  great  delicacy  that  his  expectations  were 
doomed  to  disappointment.  He  looked  at  her  with  slothful, 
oblique  glances,  and  condescended  to  smile.  What  nonsense, 
his  morose  frown  seemed  thereupon  to  say. 

Suddenly  he  opened  his  eyes  very  wide.  The  effect  was 
uncanny.  Eva  bent  her  head  forward  in  expectation,  and 
spread  out  her  fingers. 

He  said:  "  You  have  the  most  beautiful  hands  I  have  ever 
seen.  To  have  seen  them  is  to  desire  to  know  their  touch." 

Three  hours  later  she  left  Trouville,  accompanied  by  Susan 
and  by  M.  Labourdemont,  and  travelled  to  Brussels,  where 
Ivan  Becker  was  staying. 

VI 

Becker  lived  in  the  suburbs,  in  a  lonely  house  that  stood 
in  a  neglected  garden.  He  received  her  in  a  tumbled  room  that 
was  as  big  as  a  public  hall.  Two  candles  burned  on  the  table. 

He  looked  emaciated,  and  moved  about  restlessly,  even  after 
he  had  bidden  Eva  welcome. 

She  told  him  with  some  haste  of  her  engagement  in  Russia, 
which  she  was  about  to  fulfil,  and  asked  whether  he  had  any 
commissions  to  give  her.  He  said  that  he  had  not. 


224          THE    WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  The  Grand  Duke  was  attentive  to  me,"  she  said,  and 
looked  at  him  expectantly. 

He  nodded.  After  a  little  he  sat  down  and  said:  "  I  must 
tell  you  a  dream  I  had;  or,  rather,  a  hallucination,  for  I 
lay  with  my  eyes  wide  open.  Listen! 

"  About  a  richly  laid  board  there  sat  five  or  six  young 
women.  They  were  in  evening  dress,  with  very  deep  decol- 
letage,  and  laughed  wildly  and  drank  champagne.  With  friv- 
olous plays  on  words  and  seductive  gestures,  they  turned  to 
one  who  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table.  But  that  one  had  no 
form:  he  was  like  a  lump  of  dough  or  clay.  The  footmen 
trembled  when  they  approached  him,  and  the  women  grew 
pale  under  their  rouge  when  he  addressed  them.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  gleaming  cloth  there  lay,  unnoticed  by  any  one,  a 
corpse.  It  was  covered  with  fruits,  and  from  its  breast,  between 
the  peaches  and  the  grapes,  projected  the  handle  of  a  dagger. 
Blood  trickled  through  the  joints  of  the  table  and  tapped  in 
dull  drops  on  the  carpet. 

"  The  meal  came  to  an  end.  All  were  in  a  wildly  exuberant 
mood.  Then  that  formless  one  arose,  grasped  one  of  the 
women,  drew  her  close  to  him,  and  demanded  music.  And 
while  the  thunderous  music  resounded,  that  lump  expanded 
and  grew,  and  a  skull  appeared  on  it,  and  eyes  within  that 
skull,  and  these  eyes  blazed  in  a  measureless  avidity.  The 
woman  that  he  held  became  paler  and  paler,  and  sought  to  free 
herself  from  his  embrace.  But  long,  thin  arms  grew  out  of  his 
trunk.  And  with  these  he  pressed  her  so  silently  and  so  cruelly 
that  she  began  to  moan  and  turn  blue.  And  her  body  snapped 
in  two  in  the  middle.  Lifeless  she  lay  in  his  arms,  and  nothing 
seemed  left  of  her  but  her  dress.  Then  the  corpse,  that  lay 
with  pierced  breast  amid  the  fruit  and  sweets,  raised  its  head, 
and  said  with  closed  eyes:  '  Give  her  back  to  me.' 

"  Suddenly  many  people  streamed  into  that  room — peasants 
and  factory  workers,  soldiers  and  ragged  women,  Jews  and 
Jewesses.  An  old  man  with  a  white  beard  said  to  the  formless 


THENAKEDFEET  225 

one:  '  Give  me  back  my  daughter.'  Others  who  stood  behind 
screamed  frantically:  '  Give  us  our  daughters,  our  brides,  our 
sisters.'  Then  peasants  pressed  forward,  and  bent  to  the  earth 
their  melancholy  faces,  and  said:  '  Give  us  our  lands  and  our 
forests.'  Over  all  rose  the  piercing  voices  of  mothers:  '  Give 
us  our  sons,  our  sons.'  The  formless  one  receded  step  by  step 
into  empty  space.  But  even  as  he  receded  he  assumed  a  more 
clearly  denned  shape.  The  face,  the  hands,  and  the  garments 
were  brown  as  though  encrusted  with  rust  or  dried  slime. 
The  features  of  the  face  gave  not  the  least  notion  of  that 
being's  character,  and  precisely  this  circumstance  heightened 
the  despair  of  all  beyond  endurance.  They  cried  without  ceas- 
ing: 'Our  brothers!  Our  sons!  Our  sisters!  Our  lands! 
Our  forests,  O  thou  accursed  unto  all  eternity!  ' " 

Eva  said  no  word. 

Ivan  Becker  rested  his  head  upon  his  hand.  "  One  thing  is 
certain.  He  has  caused  so  many  tears  to  be  shed,  that  were 
they  gathered  into  one  lake,  that  lake  were  deeper  than  the 
Kremlin  is  tall;  the  blood  that  he  has  caused  to  flow  would 
be  a  sea  in  which  all  Moscow  could  be  drowned." 

He  walked  to  and  fro  a  few  times.  Then  he  sat  down  again 
and  continued:  "  He  is  the  creator  and  instigator  of  an  incom- 
parable reign  of  terror.  Our  living  souls  are  his  victims.  Wher- 
ever there  is  a  living  soul  among  us,  it  becomes  his  prey.  Six 
thousand  intellectuals  were  deported  during  the  past  year. 
Where  he  sets  his  foot,  there  is  death.  Ruins  and  fields  full  of 
murdered  men  mark  his  path.  These  expressions  are  not  to  be 
taken  metaphorically  but  quite,  quite  literally.  It  was  he  who 
created  the  organization  of  the  united  nobility,  which  holds 
the  country  in  subjection,  and  is  a  modern  instrument  of  tor- 
ture on  the  hugest  scale.  The  pogroms,  the  murderous  Finnish 
expedition,  the  torturing  of  the  imprisoned,  the  atrocities  of  the 
Black  Hundreds — all  these  are  his  work.  He  wastes  untold 
millions  from  the  public  treasury;  he  pardons  the  guilty  and 
condemns  the  innocent.  He  throttles  the  spirit  of  man  and 


226          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

extinguishes  all  light.  He  is  all-powerful.  He  is  God's  living 
adversary.  I  bow  before  him." 

Eva  looked  up  in  astonishment.  But  Becker  did  not  observe 
her. 

"  There  is  no  one  who  knows  him.  No  one  is  able  to  see 
through  him.  I  believe  he  is  satiated.  Nothing  affects  him 
any  longer  except  some  stimulus  of  the  epidermis.  The  story 
is  told  that  sometimes  he  has  two  beautiful  naked  women 
fight  in  his  presence.  They  have  daggers  and  must  lacerate 
each  other.  One  must  bow  down  before  that." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  Eva  whispered  wide-eyed.  "  Why 
bow?  " 

Becker  shook  his  head  warningly,  and  his  monotonous  voice 
filled  the  room  once  more.  "  He  has  found  everything  between 
heaven  and  earth  to  be  for  sale — friendship,  love,  the  patience 
of  a  people,  justice,  the  Church,  peace  and  war.  First  he  com- 
mands or  uses  force;  that  goes  without  saying.  What  these 
cannot  conquer  he  buys.  It  seems,  to  be  sure,  that  pressure 
and  force  can  accomplish  things  that  would  defy  and  wreck 
ordinary  mortals.  While  hunting  bears  in  the  Caucasus  his 
greatest  favourite,  Prince  Szilaghin,  fell  ill.  His  fever  was  high 
and  he  was  carried  into  the  hut  of  some  Circassians.  Szilaghin, 
by  the  way,  is  a  creature  of  incredible  corruption — only  twenty 
years  old  and  of  astonishing  though  effeminate  beauty.  To 
win  a  bet  he  once  disguised  himself  as  a  cocotte,  and  spent  a 
night  in  the  streets  and  amusement  resorts  of  Petrograd.  In 
the  morning  he  brought  back  a  handful  of  jewels,  including  a 
magnificent  bracelet  of  emeralds,  that  had  been  given  him  as 
tributes  to  his  mere  beauty.  It  was  he  who  fell  ill  in  the  moun- 
tains. A  mounted  messenger  was  sent  to  the  nearest  village, 
and  dragged  back  with  him  an  old,  ignorant  country  doctor. 
The  Grand  Duke  pointed  to  his  favourite  writhing  in  delirium, 
and  said  to  the  old  man:  '  If  he  dies,  you  die  too.'  Every  hour 
the  physician  administered  a  draught  to  the  sick  man.  In 
the  intervals  he  kneeled  trembling  by  the  bed  and  prayed.  As 


THE    NAKED   FEET  227 

fate  would  have  it,  Szilaghin  recovered  consciousness  toward 
morning,  and  gradually  became  well.  The  Grand  Duke  was 
convinced  that  the  inexorable  alternative  which  he  had  offered 
the  old  physician  had  released  mysterious  forces  in  him  and 
worked  something  like  a  miracle.  Thus  he  does  not  feel  nature 
as  a  barrier  to  his  power." 

A  swift  vividness  came  into  Eva's  features.  She  got  up  and 
walked  to  the  window  and  opened  it.  A  storm  was  shaking 
the  trees.  The  ragged  clouds  in  the  sky,  feebly  illuminated 
by  moonlight  and  arching  the  darkness,  were  like  a  picture  of 
Ruysdael.  Without  turning  she  said:  "  You  say  no  one  can 
penetrate  him.  There  is  nothing  to  penetrate.  There  is  an 
abyss,  dark  and  open." 

"  It  may  be  that  you  are  right  and  that  he  is  like  an  abyss," 
Ivan  Becker  answered  softly,  "  but  who  will  have  the  courage 
to  descend  into  it?  " 

Another  silence  fell  upon  them.  "  Speak,  Ivan,  speak  out  at 
last  the  thought  in  your  mind!  "  Eva  cried  out  into  the  night. 
And  every  fibre  of  her,  from  the  tips  of  her  hair  to  the  hem  of 
her  gown,  was  tense  with  listening. 

But  Becker  did  not  answer.  Only  a  terrible  pallor  came  over 
his  face. 

Eva  turned  around.  "  Shall  I  throw  myself  into  his  arms 
in  order  to  create  a  new  condition  in  the  world?  "  she  asked 
proudly  and  calmly.  "  Shall  I  increase  his  opinion  of  the 
things  that  can  be  bought  among  men  by  the  measure  of  my 
worth?  Or  do  you  think  that  I  could  persuade  him  to  exchange 
the  scaffold  for  the  confessional  and  the  hangman's  axe  for  a 
flute?  " 

"  I  have  not  spoken  of  such  a  thing;  I  shall  not  speak  of  it," 
said  Ivan  Michailovitch  with  solemnly  raised  hand. 

"  A  woman  can  do  many  things,"  Eva  continued.  "  She 
can  give  herself  away,  she  can  throw  herself  away,  she  can  sell 
herself,  she  can  conceal  indifference  and  deny  her  hatred.  But 
against  horror  she  is  powerless;  that  tears  the  heart  in  two. 


228          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Show  me  a  way ;  make  me  insensitive  to  the  horror  of  it ;  and  I 
shall  chain  your  tiger." 

"  I  know  of  no  way,"  answered  Ivan  Michailovitch.  "  I 
know  none,  for  horror  is  upon  me  too.  May  God,  the  Eternal, 
enlighten  you." 

The  loneliness  of  the  room,  of  the  house,  of  the  storm- 
ploughed  garden,  became  as  the  thunder  of  falling  boulders. 

vn 

Her  friends  awaited  developments  in  suspense.  None 
expected  her  to  offer  Maidanoff  any  serious  resistance.  When 
she  seemed  to  hold  out,  her  subtlety  was  admired.  Paris  pre- 
dicted a  radiant  future  for  her.  Much  public  curiosity  cen- 
tred upon  her,  and  many  newspaper  columns  were  devoted 
to  her. 

When  she  arrived  in  Russia  it  was  clear  that  the  authorities 
and  officials  had  received  special  instructions.  No  queen  could 
have  been  treated  with  more  subtle  courtesy.  Palatial  rooms 
in  a  hotel  were  in  readiness  and  adorned.  A  slavish  humility 
surrounded  her. 

When  the  Grand  Duke  called,  she  begged  him  to  rescind  the 
orders  that  made  her  his  debtor.  He  devoured  her  words 
with  a  frosty  and  lurking  expression,  but  remained  inactive. 
She  was  indignant  at  this  slothfulness  of  a  rigid  will,  this  deaf 
ear  that  listened  so  greedily. 

His  contempt  of  mankind  had  something  devastating  in  it. 
His  slow  eyes  seemed  to  say:  Man,  thou  slimy  worm,  grovel 
and  die! 

In  his  presence  Eva  felt  her  thoughts  to  be  so  loud  at  times 
that  she  feared  he  would  perceive  them. 

She  ventured  to  oppose  and  judge  him.  A  young  girl,  Vera 
Cheskov,  had  shot  the  governor  of  Petrograd.  Eva  had  the 
courage  to  praise  that  deed.  The  Grand  Duke's  answer  was 
smooth,  and  he  left  quite  unruffled.  She  challenged  him  more 
vigorously.  Her  infinitely  expressive  body  vibrated  in  rhythms 


THENAKEDFEET  229 

of  bitterness  and  outrage.  She  melted  in  grief,  rage,  and 
sympathy. 

He  watched  her  as  one  would  watch  a  noble  beast  at  its 
graceful  antics  and  said:  "You  are  extraordinary, 'Madame. 
I  cannot  tell  what  wish  of  yours  I  would  leave  ungranted  for 
the  reward  of  winning  your  love."  He  said  that  in  a  deep  voice, 
which  was  hoarse.  He  had  also  a  higher  voice,  which  had  a 
grinding  sound  like  that  of  rusty  hinges. 

Eva's  shoulders  quivered.  His  iron  self-sufficiency  reflected 
no  image  of  her  or  her  influence.  Against  it  all  forces  were 
shattered. 

Twice  she  saw  him  change  countenance  and  give  a  start. 
The  first  time  was  when  she  told  him  of  her  German  descent. 
An  inbred  hatred  against  all  Germans  and  everything  German 
filled  him.  An  evil  mockery  glared  in  his  face.  He  determined 
not  to  believe  her  and  dropped  the  subject. 

And  the  second  time  was  when  she  spoke  of  Ivan  Michailo- 
vitch  Becker.  She  could  not  help  it;  she  had  to  bring  that 
name  to  the  light.  It  was  her  symbol  and  talisman. 

A  glance  like  a  whip's  lash  leaped  out  of  those  slothful  eyes. 
The  two  deep  grooves  between  the  eyebrows  stretched  like  the 
antennae  of  an  insect.  A  diagonal  groove  appeared  and  formed 
with  the  others  a  menacing  cross.  The  face  became  ashen. 

Susan  was  impatient.  She  urged  her  on  and  lured  her  on. 
"  Why  do  you  hesitate?  "  she  said  to  her  mistress  one  evening. 
"  So  near  the  peak  one  cannot  go  back.  Remember  our  dreams 
in  Toledo!  We  thought  they  were  insolent  then.  Reality  puts 
us  to  shame.  Take  what  is  given  you.  Never  will  your  sweet, 
little  dancing  feet  win  a  greater  prize." 

Eva  walked  in  a  circle  about  the  rug.  "  Be  quiet,"  she  said 
thoughtfully  and  threateningly,  "  You  don't  know  what  you  are 
advising  me  to  do." 

Crouching  near  the  fire-place,  Susan's  lightless,  plum-like 
eyes  followed  her  mistress.  "  Are  you  afraid?  "  she  asked  with 
a  frown. 


230          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  I  believe  I  am  afraid,"  Eva  replied. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  sculptor  whom  we  visited  in  Meudon 
last  winter?  He  showed  us  his  work,  and  you  two  talked  art. 
He  said:  '  I  mustn't  be  afraid  of  the  marble;  the  marble  must 
be  afraid  of  me.'  You  almost  kissed  him  in  gratitude  for  those 
words.  Don't  be  afraid  now.  You  are  the  stronger." 

Eva  stood  still,  and  sighed:  "  Cette  maladie,  qu'on  appelle 
la  sagesse!  " 

Then  Susan  went  to  the  piano-forte,  and  with  her  fluttering 
angularity  of  movement  began  to  play  a  Polonaise  of  Chopin. 
Eva  listened  for  a  while.  Then  she  went  up  to  Susan  from 
behind,  tapped  her  shoulder,  and  said,  as  the  playing  ceased, 
with  a  dark,  strange  cooing  in  her  voice: 

"  If  it  must  be,  I  shall  first  live  one  summer  of  love,  the  like 
of  which  has  not  been  seen  on  earth.  Do  not  speak,  Susan. 
Play  on,  and  do  not  speak." 

Susan  looked  up,  and  shook  her  puzzled  head. 

VIII 

On  the  day  of  Eva's  last  appearance  in  Petrograd,  a  well 
laid  high  explosive  mine  blew  up  the  central  building  of  the 
Agricultural  Exposition. 

The  plot  had  been  aimed  at  the  person  of  the  Grand  Duke. 
His  visit  had  been  expected,  the  order  in  which  he  would  inspect 
the  buildings  had  been  carefully  mapped  out.  A  slight  mal- 
adjustment in  the  machinery  of  his  car  delayed  him  and  his 
train  a  few  minutes  beyond  the  precisely  fixed  hour. 

At  the  very  moment  when  he  put  his  foot  on  the  first  step 
of  the  building,  a  terrific  crash  resounded.  The  sky  dis- 
appeared behind  fume  and  fragments.  Several  manufacturers 
and  bureaucrats,  who  had  officiously  hurried  ahead,  as  well  as 
ten  or  twelve  workingmen,  were  killed.  The  air  pressure 
smashed  the  window  panes  in  all  the  houses  within  a  mile  of 
the  spot. 

For  a  while  the  Grand  Duke  stood  quite  still.     Without 


THE    NAKED   FEET  231 

curiosity  or  fear,  but  with  an  indescribably  sombre  look,  he 
surveyed  the  devastation.  When  he  turned  to  go,  the  great 
crowds  who  had  streamed  thither  melted  back  silently  at  his 
approach.  They  left  him  a  broad  path  through  which  his 
abnormally  long  legs,  accompanied  by  the  clinking  of  his  sword, 
strode  with  the  steps  of  a  sower. 

For  her  final  performance  Eva  had  selected  the  role  of  the 
fettered  and  then  liberated  Echo,  in  the  pantomime  called 
The  Awakening  of  Pan.  It  had  always  created  enthusiasm; 
but  this  time  she  celebrated  an  unparalleled  triumph. 

She  danced  a  dance  of  freedom  and  redemption,  that  affected 
with  complete  immediacy  the  nerves  of  the  thronging  audiences, 
and  released  the  tensions  of  the  day  of  their  lives.  There  was 
a  present  and  significant  eloquence  in  the  barbaric  defiance, 
the  fiery  terror  of  the  pursued.  Then  came  her  sudden  rally- 
ing, her  heroic  determination,  her  grief  over  a  first  defeat,  her 
toying  with  the  torch  of  vengeance,  her  jubilant  welcome  of  a 
rising  dawn. 

The  curtain  dropped,  and  the  twenty-five  hundred  people 
sat  as  though  turned  to  stone.  Innumerable  glances  sought  the 
box  of  the  Grand  Duke  and  found  those  slothful,  unseeing 
eyes  of  his.  They  saw  the  slightness  and  disproportionate 
length  of  his  body,  the  sinewy,  bird-like  neck  above  the  round 
collar  of  his  uniform,  the  thin  beard,  the  bumpy  forehead,  and 
felt  the  atmosphere  that  rolled  silently  out  from  him  and 
dwelled  in  his  track — the  atmosphere  of  a  million-atomed  death. 
And  in  the  midst  of  these  were  those  slothful  eyes. 

Then  the  applause  broke  out.  Distinguished  ladies  con- 
torted their  bodies,  toothless  old  men  yelled  like  boys,  sophisti- 
cated experts  of  the  theatre  climbed  on  their  seats  and  waved. 
When  Eva  appeared  the  noise  died  down.  For  ten  seconds 
nothing  was  heard  but  the  sound  of  breathing  and  the  rustle 
of  garments. 

She  looked  into  that  gleaming  sea  of  faces.  The  folds  of  her 
white  Greek  garment  were  still  as  marble.  Then  the  storm  of 


232          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

applause  burst  out  anew.  Over  the  balustrade  of  the  gallery 
a  girl  bent  and  stretched  out  her  arms,  and  cried  with  a  sob  in 
her  voice,  that  rose  above  all  the  plaudits :  "  You  have  under- 
stood us,  little  soul!  " 

Eva  did  not  understand  the  Russian  words.  But  it  was  not 
necessary.  She  looked  up,  and  their  sense  was  clear  to  her. 

IX 

At  midnight  she  appeared,  as  she  had  consented  to  do,  in 
the  palace  of  Prince  Fyodor  Szilaghin. 

So  soon  as  she  was  seen,  a  respectful  murmur  and  then  a 
silence  surrounded  her.  Bearers  of  the  most  ancient  names 
were  assembled,  the  most  beautiful  women  of  society  and  of  the 
court,  and  the  representatives  of  foreign  powers.  Several 
gentlemen  had  already  formed  a  group  about  her,  when  Fyodor 
Szilaghin  approached,  kissed  her  hand  reverently,  and  drew  her 
skilfully  from  the  group. 

She  passed  through  several  rooms  at  his  side.  He  did  his 
best  to  fascinate  her  and  succeeded  in  holding  her  attention. 

There  was  not  a  touch  of  banality  about  him.  His  gestures 
and  words  were  calculated  to  produce  a  desired  effect  with  the 
utmost  coolness  and  subtlety.  When  he  spoke  he  lowered  his 
eyes  a  little.  The  ease  and  fullness  of  speech  that  is  char- 
acteristic of  all  Russians  had  something  iridescent  in  his  case. 
An  arrogant  and  almost  cynical  consciousness  of  the  fact  that 
he  was  handsome,  witty,  aloof,  mysterious,  and  much  desired 
never  left  him.  His  eyebrows  had  been  touched  with  kohl, 
his  lips  with  rouge.  The  dull  blackness  of  his  hair  threw  into 
striking  relief  the  transparent  pallor  of  his  beardless  face. 

"  I  find  it  most  remarkable,  Madame,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of 
unfathomable  falseness,  "  that  your  art  has  not  to  us  Slavs  the 
oversophistication  that  is  characteristic  of  most  Western  artists. 
It  is  identical  with  nature.  It  would  be  instructive  to  know 
the  paths  by  which,  from  so  different  a  direction,  you  reached 
the  very  laws  and  forms  on  which  our  national  dances  as  well 


THE    NAKED   FEET  233 

as  our  modern  orchestral  innovations  are  based.  Undoubtedly 
you  are  acquainted  with  both." 

"  I  am,"  Eva  answered,  "  and  what  I  have  seen  is  most  un- 
common. It  has  power  and  character  and  enthusiasm." 

"  Enthusiasm  and  perhaps  something  more — wild  ecstasy," 
said  the  prince,  with  a  significant  smile.  "  Without  that  there 
is  no  great  creation  in  the  world.  Do  you  not  believe  that 
Christ  shared  such  ecstasy?  As  for  me,  I  cannot  be  satisfied 
with  the  commonly  accepted  figure  of  a  gentle  and  gently 
harmonious  Christ." 

"  It  is  a  new  point  of  view.  It  is  worth  thinking  about,"  Eva 
said  with  kindly  tolerance. 

"  However  that  may  be,"  Szilaghin  went  on,  "  among  us  all 
things  are  still  in  the  process  of  becoming — the  dance  as  well 
as  religion.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  name  these  two  in  one  breath. 
They  are  related  as  a  red  rose  is  to  a  white.  When  I  say  that 
we  are  still  becoming,  I  mean  that  we  have  yet  discovered  no 
limits  either  of  good  or  evil.  A  Russian  is  capable  of  commit- 
ting the  most  cruel  murder,  and  of  shedding  tears,  within  the 
next  hour,  at  the  sound  of  a  melancholy  song.  He  is  capable 
of  all  wildness,  excess,  and  horror,  but  also  of  magnanimity  and 
self-abnegation.  No  transformation  is  swifter  or  more  terrible 
than  his,  from  hate  to  love,  love  to  hate,  happiness  to  despair, 
faithfulness  to  treachery,  fear  to  temerity.  If  you  trust  him 
and  yield  yourself  to  him,  you  will  find  him  pliant,  high-souled, 
and  infinitely  tender.  Disappoint  and  maltreat  him — he  will 
plunge  into  darkness  and  be  lost  in  the  darkness.  He  can 
give,  give,  give,  without  end  or  reflection,  to  the  point  of 
fanatical  selflessness.  Not  until  he  is  hurled  to  the  uttermost 
depths  of  hopelessness,  does  the  beast  in  him  awaken  and 
crash  into  destruction  all  that  is  about  him."  The  prince 
suddenly  stood  still.  "  Is  it  indiscreet  to  ask,  Madame,  where 
you  will  pass  the  month  of  May?  I  am  told  you  intend  to  go 
to  the  sea-shore."  He  had  said  these  words  in  a  changed  tone, 
and  regarded  Eva  expectantly. 


234          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

The  question  came  to  her  like  an  attack  from  ambush.      A  > 

Insensibly  they  had  left  the  rooms  destined  for  the  gu 
and  passed  into  the  extensive  conservatories.     Labyrinth' 
paths,  threading  innumerable  flowers  and  shrubs,  led  in  all 
directions.    A  dim  light  reigned,  and  where  they  stood  in  a 
somewhat  theatrical  isolation,  thousands  of  ghostly  orchids 
exhaled  a  breathless  fragrance. 

Skilfully  and  equivocally  chosen  as  they  were,  the  sense  and 
purport  of  Szilaghin's  words  were  very  clear  to  Eva.  Yet  she 
was  tempted  to  oppose  her  own  flexibility  to  his  eel-like  smooth- 
ness of  mind,  despite  the  hidden  threat  of  the  situation.  She 
assumed  a  smile,  as  impenetrable  as  Szilaghin's  forehead  and 
large  pupils,  and  answered:  "Yes;  I  am  going  to  Heyst.  I 
must  rest.  Life  in  this  land  of  hidden  madmen  has  wearied 
me.  It  is  too  bad  that  I  must  be  deprived,  dear  Prince,  of 
a  mentor  and  sage  like  yourself." 

Suddenly  Szilaghin  dropped  on  one  knee,  and  said  softly: 
"  My  master  and  friend  beseeches  you  through  me  for  the 
favour  of  being  near  you  wherever  you  may  elect  to  go.  He 
insists  on  no  exact  time,  but  awaits  your  summons.  I  know 
neither  the  degree  nor  the  cause  of  your  hesitation,  dear 
lady,  but  what  pledge  do  you  demand,  what  surety,  for  the 
sincerity  of  a  feeling  that  avoids  no  test  and  stops  at  no 
sacrifice?  " 

"  Please  rise,  prince,"  Eva  commanded  him.  She  stepped 
back  a  pace  and  stretched  out  her  arms  in  a  delicate  gesture 
of  unwilling  intimacy.  "  You  are  a  spendthrift  of  yourself  at 
this  moment.  Please  rise." 

"  Not  until  you  assure  me  that  I  shall  be  the  bearer  of 
good  news.  Your  decision  is  a  grave  one.  Clouds  are  gather- 
ing and  awaiting  a  wind  that  may  disperse  them.  Processions 
are  on  the  roads  praying  to  avert  an  evil  fate.  I  am  but  a 
single,  but  a  chance  messenger.  May  I  rise  now?  " 

Eva  folded  her  arms  across  her  bosom,  and  retreated  to  the 
very  wall  of  hanging  flowers.  She  became  aware  of  the  mighty 


THENAKEDFEET  235 

naked  seriousness  of  fate.    "  Rise,"  she  said,  with  lowered 

and  twice  did  fire  and  pallor  alternate  on  her  cheeks, 
ilaghin  arose  and  smiled,  swiftly  breathing.     Again,  in 
reverence,  he  carried  her  hand  to  his  lips.    Then  he  led 
her,  subtly  chatting  as  before,  back  among  the  other  guests. 

It  was  twelve  hours  after  this  that  Christian  received  the 
telegram  which  called  him  to  Berlin. 


Edgar  Lorm  played  to  crowded  houses  in  Munich.  His 
popularity  was  such  that  he  had  to  prolong  his  stay. 

It  pleased  Crammon  enormously  and  puffed  him  up.  He 
walked  about  as  though  he  were  the  sole  nurse  of  all  this 
glory. 

One  day  he  was  at  a  tea  given  by  a  literary  lady.  In  a  corner 
arose  laughter  that  was  obviously  directed  at  him.  He  was 
amused  when  he  discovered  that  the  whispering  group  gathered 
there  believed  firmly  that  he  was  copying  Lorm's  impersonation 
of  the  Misanthrope. 

Felix  Imhof  writhed  in  laughter  when  he  heard  the  story. 
"  There's  something  very  attractive  in  the  notion  to  people  who 
don't  really  know  you,"  he  said  to  Crammon.  "  It's  far  more 
likely  that  it's  the  other  way  around,  and  that  Lorm  created  his 
impersonation  by  copying  you." 

This  interpretation  was  very  flattering.  Crammon  smiled  in 
appreciation  of  it.  Unconsciously  he  deepened  the  lines  of  mis- 
anthropy in  his  chubby  ecclesiastical  face.  When  Lorm  had 
his  picture  taken  as  Alceste,  Crammon  took  up  his  stand  behind 
the  camera,  and  gazed  steadily  at  the  ripe  statuesqueness  of  the 
actor's  appearance. 

It  was  his  intention  to  learn.  The  role  which  had  been 
assigned  him  in  the  play  of  the  actor's  life — the  play  that 
lasted  from  nine  o'clock  every  morning  until  eleven  at  night 
— began  to  arouse  his  dissatisfaction.  He  desired  it  to  be  less 
episodic.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Lorm,  the  director  of  this 


236          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

particular  play,  should  be  persuaded  to  change  the  cast.  He 
told  Lorm  so  quite  frankly.  For  the  actor  was  no  longer 
to  him,  as  in  the  days  of  his  youth,  the  crown  and  glory  of 
human  existence  and  the  vessel  of  noblest  emotions,  but  a 
means  to  an  end.  Nowadays  one  was  forced  to  learn  of 
Lorm,  to  conceal  one's  true  feelings  impenetrably,  to  gather 
all  one's  energy  for  the  moment  of  one's  cue,  to  be  thrifty 
of  one's  self,  bravely  to  wear  a  credible  mask,  and  thus  to 
assure  each  situation  of  a  happy  ending. 

So  Crammon  said:  "I've  always  had  rather  pleasant  rela- 
tions with  my  partners.  I  can  truly  say  that  I'm  an  obliging 
colleague  and  have  always  stolen  away  into  the  background 
when  it  was  their  turn  to  have  their  monologues  or  great 
scenes  in  the  centre  of  the  stage.  But  two  of  them,  the 
young  lover  and  the  heroine,  have  undoubtedly  abused  my 
good  nature.  They've  gradually  shoved  me  out  of  the  play 
entirely.  To  their  own  hurt,  too.  The  action  promised  to 
be  splendid.  Since  I've  been  shoved  into  the  wings,  it 
threatens  to  be  lost  in  the  sand.  It  annoys  me." 

Edgar  Lorm  smiled.  "  It  seems  to  me  rather  that  the 
playwright  is  at  fault  than  those  two,"  he  answered.  "  And 
no  doubt  it's  a  mistake  in  construction.  No  experienced  man 
of  the  theatre  would  dispense  with  a  character  like  your- 
self." 

"  Prosit,"  said  Crammon,  and  lifted  his  glass.  They  were 
sitting  late  in  the  Ratskeller. 

"  One  must  await  developments,"  Lorm  continued.  The 
whole  charade  amused  him  immensely.  "  In  the  works  of 
good  authors  you  sometimes  find  unexpected  turns  of  the 
action.  You  mustn't  scold  till  the  final  curtain." 

Crammon  murmured  morosely.  "  It's  taking  a  long  time. 
Some  day  soon  I'm  going  to  mount  the  stage  and  find  out 
in  which  act  we  are.  I  may  make  an  extempore  inser- 
tion." 

"  For  what  particular  line  have  you  been  engaged  any- 


THENAKEDFEET  237 

how?  "  Lorm  inquired.  "  Man  of  the  world,  character  parts, 
or  heavy  father?  " 

Crammon  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  two  men  looked 
seriously  at  each  other.  A  pleasant  mood  gleamed  about 
the  actor's  narrow  lips.  "  How  long  is  it  since  we've  seen 
each  other,  old  boy?  "  he  said,  and  threw  his  arm  affection- 
ately over  Crammon's  shoulder.  "  It  must  be  years.  Until 
recently  I  had  a  secretary  who,  whenever  a  letter  came  from 
you,  would  lay  it  on  my  pillow  at  night.  He  meant  that 
action  to  express  something  like  this:  Look,  Lorm,  people 
aren't  the  filthy  scamps  you  always  call  them.  Well,  he  was 
an  idealist  who  had  been  brought  up  on  chicory,  potatoes,  and 
herring.  You  find  that  sort  once  in  a  while.  As  for  you, 
my  dear  Crammon,  you've  put  on  flesh.  You're  comfort- 
able and  compact  in  that  nice  tight  skin  of  yours.  I'm  still 
lean  and  feed  on  my  own  blood." 

"  My  fat  is  only  a  stage  property,"  said  Crammon  sadly. 
"  The  inner  me  is  untouched." 

XI 

Whenever  Lorm  played,  Judith  Imhof  was  in  the  theatre. 
But  she  went  neither  with  her  husband  nor  with  Crammon. 
They  broke  in  upon  her  mood.  She  cared  very  little  for 
Crammon  at  any  time.  Unless  he  was  very  jocular,  he  seemed 
to  her  insufferable. 

She  sat  in  the  stalls,  and  in  the  entr'actes  waved  graciously 
and  calmly  to  Felix  and  Crammon  in  their  box.  She  was 
careless  of  the  amazement  of  her  acquaintances.  If  any  one 
had  the  temerity  to  ask  why  she  sat  alone,  she  answered, 
"  Imhof  is  annoyed  when  another  is  not  pleased  with  some- 
thing that  arouses  his  enthusiasm.  So  we  go  on  different  paths." 

Inevitably  the  curious  person  would  ask  next:  "  Then  you 
don't  care  for  Lorm?  "  Whereupon  she  would  reply:  "  Not 
greatly.  He  forces  me  to  take  a  certain  interest;  but  I  resent 
that.  I  think  he's  terribly  overrated." 


238          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

One  day  a  lady  of  her  acquaintance  asked  her  whether  she 
was  happy  in  her  marriage.  "  I  don't  know,"  she  answered, 
and  laughed.  "  I  haven't  any  exact  conception  of  what  peo- 
ple mean  by  happiness."  Her  friend  then  asked  her  why 
she  had  married.  "  Very  simply,"  she  replied,  "  because  be- 
ing a  young  girl  got  to  be  such  an  undelightful  situation  that 
I  sought  to  escape  from  it  as  soon  as  possible."  The  lady 
wanted  to  know  whether  she  didn't,  then,  love  her  husband. 
"My  dear  woman,"  Judith  said,  "love!  There's  nothing  so 
mischievous  as  the  loose  way  in  which  people  use  that  word. 
Most  people,  I  believe,  pretend  quite  shamelessly  when  they 
talk  about  it,  and  defend  it  simply  because  they  don't  want 
to  admit  that  they've  been  taken  in.  It's  exactly  like  the 
king's  new  clothes  in  the  old  fable.  Every  one  acts  mightily 
important  and  enthusiastic,  and  won't  admit  that  the  poor 
king  is  naked  to  the  winds." 

Another  time  she  was  asked  whether  she  didn't  yearn  to 
have  a  child.  "A  child!  "  she  cried  out.  "Horrors!  Shall 
I  bring  forth  more  food  for  the  worms?  " 

Once,  in  company,  the  conversation  turned  to  the  ques- 
tion of  one's  sensitiveness  to  pain.  Judith  asserted  that  she 
could  bear  any  bodily  torment  without  moving  a  muscle. 
She  was  not  believed.  She  procured  a  long,  golden  needle, 
and  bade  one  of  the  gentlemen  pierce  her  whole  arm  with 
it.  When  he  refused  in  horror,  she  asked  another  of  stronger 
nerves  who  obeyed  her.  And  really  she  did  not  twitch  a 
muscle.  The  blood  gathered  in  a  little  pool.  She  smiled. 

Felix  Imhof  could  weep  at  the  least  excuse.  When  he 
had  a  sick  headache  he  wept.  She  despised  this  in  him. 

The  actor  took  hold  of  her.  She  resisted  in  vain.  The 
spell  he  cast  over  her  grew  ever  firmer,  more  indissoluble.  She 
brooded  over  it.  Was  it  his  transformations  that  attracted 
her  so? 

Although  he  was  forty,  his  body  was  as  elegent  and  flex- 
ible as  polished  steel.  And  like  the  ringing  of  steel  was  his 


THENAKEDFEET  239 

voice.  The  words  were  sparks.  Under  his  tread  the  wooden 
stage  became  a  palaestra.  Nothing  clung  or  whined  or  crept. 
Everything  was  tension,  progression,  verve,  the  rhythm  of 
storms.  There  was  no  inner  weight  or  weariness.  Bugles 
soared.  She  agreed  with  Felix  when  he  said:  "  There  is 
more  of  the  true  content  of  our  age  in  this  man  than  in  all 
the  papers,  editorials,  pamphlets,  and  plethoric  three-deckers 
that  the  press  has  spewed  forth  within  the  past  twenty  years. 
He  has  crowned  the  living  word  and  made  it  our  king." 

She  was  impatient  to  make  the  personal  aquaintance  of 
Lorm.  Crammon  became  the  intermediary,  and  brought  the 
actor  to  her  house.  She  was  amazed  at  the  homeliness  of  the 
man's  face.  She  resented  his  insignificant,  tilted  nose  and  his 
mediocre  forehead.  But  the  spell  was  not  broken.  She  de- 
sired to  overlook  these  details  and  succeeded.  They  repre- 
sented but  another  transformation  of  that  self  which  she  be- 
lieved to  be  so  infinitely  varied. 

He  revealed  himself  as  an  epicure,  with  remnants  of  that 
greed  which  marks  the  man  who  has  risen  from  humble 
things.  The  delights  of  the  table  induced  in  him  outbursts  of 
noisy  merriment.  Over  the  oysters  and  the  champagne  he  dis- 
cussed his  worst  enemies  with  benevolence. 

He  was  so  changeable  of  mood  that  it  was  exhausting  to 
associate  with  him.  No  one  opposed  him,  and  this  lack  of 
opposition  had  produced  an  empty  space  about  him  that  had 
almost  the  guise  of  loneliness.  He  himself  took  it  for  the 
solitariness  of  the  soul,  and  cherished  it  with  a  proud  pain. 

He  discoursed  only  in  monologues.  He  listened  only  to  him- 
self. But  he  did  all  that  with  the  innocence  of  a  savage.  When 
others  spoke  he  disappeared  in  an  inner  absorption,  his  eyes 
assumed  a  stony  look.  The  part  of  him  that  remained  con- 
scious was  undeviatingly  courteous,  but  this  courtesy  often 
had  an  automatic  air.  When  he  came  to  speak  again,  he  de- 
lighted his  hearers  by  his  wit,  his  paradoxes,  and  his  masterly 
rendition  of  anecdotes. 


24o          THE  WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

He  avoided  conversation  with  women.  Beauty  and  coquetry 
made  no  impression  on  him.  When  women  became  enthusiastic 
over  him,  his  expression  was  one  of  merely  courteous  atten- 
tion, and  his  thoughts  were  contemptuous.  He  had  no  adven- 
tures, and  his  name  occurred  in  no  racy  stories.  Once  out  of 
the  theatre,  he  lived  the  life  of  a  private  gentleman  of  simple 
habits. 

With  cool  but  delicate  perceptivity  Judith  examined  the 
conformation  of  his  character.  She  who  was  utterly  without 
swift  aspiration,  whose  dry  nature  perceived  only  the  utili- 
tarian, only  the  expedient,  who  had  been  stifled  in  mere  forms 
from  her  girlhood,  and  esteemed  nothing  in  others  but  the 
external,  garments,  jewels,  display,  title,  name — she  was  like 
one  possessed  and  charged  with  an  electric  fluid  within  three 
days.  She  was  fascinated  primarily  by  external  things:  his 
eye,  his  voice,  his  fame.  But  there  was  one  deeper  thing:  the 
illusion  of  his  art. 

She  knew  what  she  was  doing.  Her  steps  were  scrupulously 
calculated. 

One  day  Lorm  complained  of  the  disorganization  in  his  life, 
the  frightful  waste  of  his  substance.  It  was  at  table,  and  he 
was  answered  by  empty  phrases.  But  Judith,  when  she  suc- 
ceeded in  having  him  to  herself  later,  took  up  the  subject 
again.  She  persuaded  him  to  describe  the  persons  whom  he 
held  responsible,  and  expressed  doubts  of  their  trustworthiness. 
She  disapproved  of  arrangements  that  he  had  made,  gave  him 
advice  that  he  found  excellent,  and  reproached  him  with  the 
neglect  of  which  he  confessed  himself  guilty.  "  I  wade  in 
money  and  suffocate  in  debt,"  he  sighed.  "  In  twenty  years 
I'll  be  an  old  man  and  a  poor  devil." 

Her  practical  insight  filled  him  with  naive  admiration.  He 
said  to  her:  "  I've  been  told  once  in  a  while  that  there  are  such 
women  in  the  world  as  you,  but  I  never  believed  in  their  ex- 
istence. All  I've  ever  seen  were  full  of  empty  exactions  and 
florid  emotions." 


THE    NAKED   FEET  241 

"You're  unjust,"  she  replied  and  smiled.  "Every  woman 
has  some  field  in  which  she  has  character  and  firmness,  but  the 
world  pays  no  attention.  Then,  too,  our  relation  to  the  world 
is  usually  a  false  one." 

"  That  is  a  wise  remark,"  said  Lorm  in  a  satisfied  voice. 
He  was  a  miser  of  praise. 

From  now  on  he  loved  to  have  her  draw  him  into  talk  con- 
cerning his  little  needs  and  worries.  She  examined  him  in 
detail,  and  he  was  glad  to  submit.  He  brought  her  the  bills 
rendered  him  by  his  tradespeople.  "  They  capitalize  your 
inexperience,  and  cheat  you,"  was  Judith's  judgment  of  the 
situation.  It  made  him  feel  ashamed. 

"  Have  you  been  lending  money?  "  she  asked.  It  appeared 
that  he  had.  For  years  and  years  he  had  loaned  considerable 
sums  to  numerous  parasites.  Judith  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  You  might  just  as  well  have  thrown  the  money  away." 

Lbrm  answered:  "  It's  such  a  bother  when  they  come  and 
beg,  and  their  faces  are  so  unappetizing.  I  give  them  what 
they  ask  just  to  be  rid  of  them." 

In  this  wise  their  conversations  moved  wholly  within  the 
circle  of  the  prosaic  things  of  daily  life.  But  it  was  precisely 
this  that  Edgar  Lorm  had  missed  and  needed.  It  was  as  new 
and  as  moving  to  him,  as  the  discovery  of  a  rapt  and  ecstatic 
soul  to  a  bourgeois  becoming  aware  of  poetry  and  passion. 

Judith  had  a  dream.  She  lay  quite  naked  beside  a  slippery, 
icy  fish.  And  she  lay  with  it  from  choice,  and  snuggled  close 
to  its  cold  body.  But  suddenly  she  began  to  beat  it,  for  its 
cool,  damp,  slippery  scales,  which  had  a  gleam  of  silver  and 
were  opaline  along  its  back,  suddenly  inspired  in  her  a  witch- 
like  fury.  She  beat  and  beat  the  creature,  until  she  lost  con- 
sciousness and  awoke  exhausted. 

An  excursion  int  the  valley  of  the  Isar  was  arranged. 
Crammon  went,  and  Felix,  a  young  friend  of  the  latter,  Lorm 
and  Judith.  They  took  their  coffee  in  the  garden  of  an 
inn,  and  on  the  way  back,  which  led  through  woods,  they 


242          THE    WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

went  in  couples,  Lorm  and  Judith  being  the  last.  "  I've  lost 
my  gold  cigarette  case,"  Lorm  announced  suddenly,  examin- 
ing his  pocket,  "  I've  got  to  go  back  the  last  part  of  the  way. 
I  know  I  had  it  when  we  were  in  the  village."  It  was  an  object 
precious  in  itself,  and  to  which  he  attached  a  great  value 
because  it  had  been  given  him  by  a  king  who  had  been  devoted 
to  him  in  an  enthusiastic  friendship  in  his  youth,  and  so  it 
was  irreplaceable. 

Judith  nodded.  "  I'll  wait  here,"  she  said,  "  I'm  afraid  I'm 
too  tired  to  cover  the  distance  three  times." 

He  walked  back  and  left  Judith  standing  there,  leaning  her 
head  against  a  tree  and  reflecting.  Her  forehead  wrinkled  and 
her  eyes  assumed  a  piercing  look.  It  was  silent  in  the  wood; 
no  breeze  stirred,  no  bird  cried,  no  animal  rustled  in  the 
bushes.  Time  passed.  Driven  not  at  all  by  impatience,  but  by 
her  thoughts,  which  were  both  violent  and  decisive,  she  finally 
left  her  place,  and  walked  in  the  direction  from  which  Lorm 
would  have  to  come.  When  she  had  been  walking  for  a  while, 
she  saw  something  golden  gleaming  in  the  moss.  It  was  the 
cigarette  case,  which  she  picked  up  calmly. 

Lorm  came  back  sorely  vexed.  He  was  silent,  and  as  he 
walked  beside  her,  she  quietly  presented  the  case  on  her  flat 
hand.  He  made  a  gesture  of  joyous  surprise,  and  she  had  to 
tell  him  how  she  had  found  it. 

For  a  while  he  seemed  to  be  struggling  with  himself.  Sud- 
denly he  said:  "  How  much  easier  life  would  be  with  you." 

Judith  answered  with  a  smile:  "  You  talk  of  it  as  of  some- 
thing unattainable." 

"  I  believe  it  to  be  so,"  he  murmured,  with  lowered  head. 

"  If  you're  thinking  of  my  marriage,"  Judith  said,  still  smil- 
ing, "  I  consider  your  expression  exaggerated.  The  way  out 
would  be  simple." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  your  marriage,  but  of  your  wealth." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  your  meaning  more  clearly." 

"  At  once."    He  looked  about  him,  and  went  up  to  a  tree. 


THENAKEDFEET  243 

"  Do  you  see  that  little  beetle?  Look  how  busily  he 
works  to  climb  the  height  before  him.  He  has  probably 
worked  his  way  up  a  considerable  distance  to-day.  No  doubt 
he  started  before  dawn.  When  he's  on  top,  he  will  have  accom- 
plished something.  But  if  I  take  him  between  my  fingers 
now  and  place  him  at  the  top,  then  the  very  path  which  his 
own  labour  has  dug  becomes  a  thing  of  no  value  to  him.  That's 
the  way  it  is  with  beetles  and  also  with  men." 

Judith  considered.  "  Comparisons  must  halt.  That's  their 
prerogative,  you  know."  She  spoke  with  gentle  mockery.  "  I 
don't  understand  why  one  should  reject  another,  simply  because 
that  other  doesn't  come  with  empty  hands.  It's  a  funny 
notion." 

"  Between  a  hand  that  is  empty,  and  one  that  commands 
immeasurable  treasures,  there  is  a  fatal  difference,"  Lorm  said 
with  deep  earnestness.  "  I  have  worked  my  way  up  from 
poverty.  You  have  no  faintest  notion  of  the  meaning  of  that 
word.  All  that  I  am  and  have,  I  owe  to  the  immediate  exer- 
tions of  my  body  and  my  brains.  By  your  birth  you  have  been 
accustomed  all  your  life  to  buy  the  bodies  and  the  brains  of 
others.  And  though  you  had  a  thousand  times  more  instinct 
and  vision  for  practical  things  and  for  the  necessities  of  a 
sane  life  than  you  have,  yet  you  do  not  and  could  not  com- 
prehend the  profoundly  moral  and  rightly  revered  relation  of 
accomplishment  to  reward.  Your  adventitious  advantages  have 
constantly  made  it  possible  for  you  to  ignore  this  relation,  and 
to  substitute  for  it  an  arbitrary  will.  To  me  your  wealth  would 
be  paralysis,  a  mockery  and  a  spectre." 

He  looked  at  her  with  head  thrown  back. 

"  And  so  you  think  our  case  hopeless?  "  Judith  asked,  pale 
and  defiant. 

"  Since  I  cannot  and  dare  not  expect  you  to  abandon  your 
millions  and  share  the  fate  of  a  play-actor,  it  does  indeed  seem 
hopeless." 

Judith's  face  was  quite  colourless.  "  Let  us  go,"  she  said; 


244          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  the  others  will  remark  our  absence,  and  I  dislike  being  gos- 
siped about." 

Swiftly  and  silently  they  walked  on.  They  came  to  a  clearing 
and  saw  beneath  a  black  rampart  of  clouds  the  throbbing, 
crimson  disc  of  the  sun.  Judith  stared  into  it  with  raging  fury. 
For  the  first  time  her  will  had  encountered  a  still  stronger  will. 
It  was  rage  that  filled  her  eyes  with  tears,  rage  that  wrung 
from  her  discordant  laughter.  When  Lorm  looked  at  her  in 
pained  surprise,  she  turned  away  and  bit  her  lip. 

"  I'm  capable  of  doing  it,"  she  said  to  herself  in  her  rage. 
And  the  impulse  hardened  into  a  stubborn  determination: 
"  I  will!  I  will!  " 

XII 

When  Christian  arrived  in  Berlin  with  Amadeus  Voss  he 
found,  quite  as  he  had  expected,  many  people  and  a  great 
tumult  about  Eva.  He  could  scarcely  get  to  her.  "  I  am  tired, 
Eidolon,"  she  cried  out,  when  she  caught  sight  of  him.  "  Take 
me  away  from  everything." 

And  again,  when  she  had  escaped  the  oppressive  host  of  ad- 
mirers, she  said:  "  How  good  it  is  that  you  are  here,  Eidolon. 
I  have  waited  for  you  with  an  ache  in  my  heart.  We'll  leave 
to-morrow." 

But  the  journey  was  postponed  from  day  to  day.  They 
planned  to  live  alone  and  in  retirement  at  the  Dutch  water- 
ing place  that  was  their  immediate  goal,  but  Christian  had 
already  met  a  dozen  people  who  had  ordered  accommodations 
there,  and  so  he  doubted  the  seriousness  of  Eva's  intentions. 
People  had  become  indispensable  to  her.  When  she  was  silent 
she  wanted,  at  least,  to  hear  the  voices  of  others;  when  she 
was  quiet  she  wanted  movement  about  her. 

When  he  stood  before  her  the  fragrance  of  her  body  pene- 
trated him  like  a  great  fear.  His  blood  flowed  in  such  violent 
waves  that  his  pulses  lost  the  rhythm  of  their  beating. 

He  had  forgotten  her  face,  the  inimitable  veracity  of  her 


THENAKEDFEET  245 

gestures,  her  power  of  feeling  and  inspiring  ecstasy,  her  whole 
powerful,  delicate,  flowerlike,  radiant  being.  Everything 
seemed  to  yield  to  her,  even  the  elements.  When  she  appeared 
in  the  street,  the  sun  shone  more  purely  and  the  air  was  more 
temperate;  and  thus  the  wild  turmoil  about  her  was  trans- 
formed into  a  steady  and  obedient  tide. 

Susan  said  to  Christian:  "  We  are  to  dance  here,  and  have 
offers.  But  we  don't  like  the  Prussians.  They  seem  an  arid 
folk,  who  save  their  money  for  soldiers  and  barracks.  I  haven't 
seen  a  real  face.  All  men  and  all  women  look  alike.  They  may 
be  worthy,  no  doubt  they  are;  but  they  seem  machine-made." 

"  Eva  herself  is  a  German,"  Christian  rebuked  the  woman's 
spiteful  words. 

"  Bah,  if  a  genius  is  cast  forth  from  heaven  and  tumbles  on 
the  earth,  it  is  blind  and  cannot  choose  its  place.  Where  is 
Herr  von  Crammon?  "  she  interrupted  herself.  "  Why  doesn't 
he  come  to  see  us?  And  whom  have  you  brought  in  his 
stead?  "  She  poked  out  her  chin  toward  Amadeus  Voss,  who 
stood  timidly  in  a  corner,  and  whose  large  spectacles  made  him 
look  like  an  owl.  "  Who  is  that?  " 

Who  is  that?  The  same  question  appeared  in  the  astonished 
faces  of  Wiguniewski  and  of  the  Marquis  of  Tavera.  Amadeus 
was  new  to  the  world  with  a  vengeance.  The  fixed  expression 
on  his  features  had  something  so  silly  at  times,  that  Christian 
was  ashamed  of  him  and  the  others  laughed. 

Voss  wandered  about  the  streets,  pushed  himself  into  crowds, 
surveyed  the  exhibits  behind  the  plate-glass  windows  of  shops, 
stared  into  coffee-houses,  bought  newspapers  and  pamphlets, 
but  found  no  way  of  calming  his  soul.  All  he  could  see  was 
the  face  of  the  dancer,  and  the  gestures  with  which  she  cut  a 
fruit  or  greeted  a  friend  or  bowed  or  sat  down  in  a  chair  or 
arose  or  smelled  a  flower,  or  the  motions  of  her  lids  and  lips 
and  neck  and  shoulders  and  hips  and  legs.  And  he  found  all 
these  things  in  her  provocative  and  affected,  and  yet  they  had 
bitten  into  his  brain  as  acid  bites  into  metal. 


246          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

One  evening  he  entered  Christian's  room,  and  his  face  was 
the  colour  of  dust. 

"  Who  really  is  Eva  Sorel?  "  he  asked,  with  a  bitter  rancour. 
"Where  does  she  come  from?  To  whom  does  she  belong? 
What  are  we  doing  here  with  her?  Tell  me  something  about 
her.  Enlighten  me."  He  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and 
stared  at  Christian. 

When  Christian,  unprepared  for  this  tempest  of  questions, 
made  no  answer,  he  went  on:  "  You've  put  me  into  a  new  skin, 
but  the  old  Adam  writhes  in  it  still.  Is  this  a  masquerade? 
If  so,  tell  me  at  least  what  the  masks  represent.  I  seem  to 
be  disguised  too,  but  badly.  I  expect  you  to  improve  my 
disguise." 

"  You  aren't  disguised  any  worse  than  the  others,"  Christian 
said,  with  a  soothing  smile. 

Voss  rested  his  head  on  his  two  hands.  "  So  she's  a  dancer, 
a  dancer,"  he  murmured  thoughtfully.  "  To  my  way  of  feel- 
ing there  has  always  been  something  lewd  about  that  word  and 
what  it  means.  How  can  it  help  arousing  images  that  bring 
the  blush  to  one's  cheek?  "  Suddenly  he  looked  up,  and  asked 
with  a  piercing  glance:  "  Is  she  your  mistress?  " 

The  blood  left  Christian's  face.  "  I  think  I  understand  what 
disturbs  you  so,"  he  said.  "  But  now  that  you've  gone  with 
me,  you  must  bear  with  me.  I  don't  know  how  long  we  shall 
stay  with  this  crowd,  and  I  can't  myself  tell  exactly  why  we 
are  here.  But  you  must  not  ask  me  about  Eva  Sorel.  We 
must  not  discuss  her  either  for  praise  or  blame." 

Voss  was  silenced. 

xm 

Christian,  Amadeus,  Bradshaw,  Tavera,  and  Wiguniewski 
went  by  motor.  Eva  used  the  train. 

But  this  way  of  travelling  agreed  with  her  as  ill  as  any 
other.  All  night  she  lay  sleepless  in  her  crumpled  silks,  her 
head  buried  among  pillows.  Susan  crouched  by  her,  giving  her 


THENAKEDFEET  247 

perfume  or  a  book  or  a  glass  of  cold  lemonade.  There  was  a 
prickling  in  her  limbs  that  would  not  let  her  rest,  a  weight  on 
her  bosom,  an  alternation  of  thought  and  fancy,  of  willing  and 
the  weariness  of  willing  in  her  mind.  The  hum  of  th'e  wheels 
on  the  rails  cut  into  her  nerves;  the  sable  landscape,  as  it 
glided  by,  irritated  her  like  a  delusion  that  forever  changed  and 
melted.  Malignity  seemed  to  lurk  in  the  fields;  treacherous 
forests  seemed  to  block  the  way;  she  saw  haunted  houses  and 
terror-stricken  men. 

"What  a  torturer  time  is!  "  she  whispered.  "Oh,  that  it 
stood  before  me,  and  I  could  have  it  whipped." 

Susan  bent  nearer,  and  gazed  at  her  attentively. 

Suddenly  she  whispered  tenderly:  "  What  do  you  expect  of 
him?  What  is  the  purpose  of  this  new  game?  He's  the  most 
banal  of  them  all.  I  never  heard  him  make  a  polished  or  a 
witty  remark.  Does  he  realize  what  you  are?  Not  in  his 
wildest  dreams.  His  head  is  empty.  Your  art  means  about 
as  much  to  him  as  the  acrobatics  of  a  circus  dancer  to  some 
dreary  shop-keeper.  Nations  are  at  your  feet,  and  he  grants 
you  a  supercilious  smile.  You  have  given  the  world  a  new 
kind  of  delight,  and  this  German  know-it-all  is  untouched  and 
unchanged  by  it." 

Eva  said:  "  If  the  North  Sea  is  too  sinister,  we  must  seek 
a  coast  in  the  South." 

Susan  grew  excited:  "One  would  like  to  yell  into  his  ears: 
'  Get  on  your  knees!  Pray!  '  But  he  wouldn't  be  shaken  any 
more  than  the  pillar  of  Vendome.  Is  he  ever  shaken  by  any- 
thing? I  described  to  him  how  we  were  adored  in  Russia, 
the  ecstasy,  the  festivities,  the  outbursts  of  enthusiasm.  He 
acted  as  if  he  were  hearing  a  moderately  interesting  bit  of 
daily  news.  I  told  him  about  the  Grand  Duke.  No,  don't 
frown.  I  had  to,  or  I  would  have  choked.  I  described  that 
chained  barbarian,  that  iron  soul  dissolved!  It's  certainly 
uncommon;  it  would  make  any  heart  beat  faster.  I  tried  to 
make  him  visualize  the  situation:  fifty  millions  of  trembling 


248          THE  WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

slaves  and  all,  through  his  power,  at  your  bidding.  No  poet 
could  have  been  more  impressive  than  I  was.  If  you  had 
heard  me  trying  to  penetrate  his  mind,  you  would  have  been 
astonished  at  my  talent  for  sewing  golden  threads  on  sack 
cloth.  It  was  all  in  vain.  His  breath  came  as  regularly  as  the 
ticking  of  a  clock.  Once  or  twice  he  seemed  to  be  startled. 
But  it  was  due  to  a  breeze  or  a  mosquito." 

"  I  wonder  whether  the  gowns  from  Paris  have  arrived  at 
Heyst,"  Eva  said.  The  long  oval  of  her  face  seemed  to  grow 
a  trifle  longer ;  her  lips  curled  a  little,  and  her  teeth  showed  like 
pallid,  freshly  peeled  almonds. 

"  Why  did  you  refuse  yourself  to  him?  "  Susan  went  on. 
"  What  we  possess  is  part  of  our  past,  but  a  joy  put  off  is  a 
burden.  Men  are  to  be  the  rungs  of  your  ladder — no  more. 
Let  them  give  you  magical  nights,  but  send  them  packing  when 
the  cock  crows.  How  has  he  deserved  a  higher  office?  You've 
yielded  to  a  whim,  and  made  a  grinning  idol  of  him.  Why 
did  you  summon  him?  I'm  afraid  you're  going  to  commit  a 
folly." 

Eva  did  not  answer.  The  tip  of  her  tongue  appeared  be- 
tween her  lips,  and  she  closed  her  eyes  cunningly.  Susan 
thought  she  understood  those  gestures,  and  said:  "  It's  true,  he 
has  the  marvellous  diamond  for  which  you  cried.  But  you  have 
but  to  command,  and  they'll  trim  your  very  shoes  with  such 
baubles." 

"  When  did  you  ever  see  me  cry  for  a  diamond?  "  Eva  asked 
indifferently.  She  raised  herself  up,  and  in  her  transparent, 
wavering,  blossomy  wrappings  seemed  like  a  spirit  emerging 
from  the  dimness.  "  When  did  you  ever  see  me  cry  for  a 
diamond?  "  she  asked  again,  and  touched  Susan's  shoulder. 

"  You  told  me  so  yourself." 

"  Have  you  no  better  proof?  "  Eva  laughed,  and  her  laughter 
was  her  most  sensuous  form  of  expression,  as  her  smile  was 
her  most  spiritual. 

Susan  folded  her  hands  and  said  resignedly:  "  Volvedme  del 


THE    NAKED   FEET  249 

otro  lado,  que  de  esto  ya  estoy  tostado!  "  It  is  a  Spanish 
ejaculation,  and  means:  Lay  me  on  the  other  side,  for  I  have 
been  toasted  enough  on  this. 

xrv 

The  house  that  Eva  had  taken  was  not  very  far  from  the 
beach.  It  was  an  old  manor,  which  William  of  Orange  had 
built,  and  which  had  belonged  to  the  late  Duchess  of  Leuchten- 
berg  until  a  few  years  ago. 

The  rooms,  built  of  mighty  blocks  of  stone,  soothed  Eva. 
By  day  and  night  she  heard  the  long-drawn  thunder  of  the 
waves.  Whenever  she  picked  up  a  book,  she  dropped  it  again 
soon  and  listened. 

She  walked  through  those  rooms,  full  of  ancient  furniture 
and  dark  portraits,  glad  to  possess  herself,  and  to  await  without 
torment  him  who  came  to  her.  She  greeted  him  with  half- 
closed  eyes,  and  with  the  smile  of  one  who  has  yielded  herself 
wholly. 

Susan  practised  on  a  piano  with  muted  strings.  When  she 
had  finished  her  task,  she  slunk  away  and  remained  hidden. 

Christian  and  Amadeus  Voss  had  taken  lodgings  in  a  neigh- 
bouring villa — Voss  on  the  ground  floor,  Christian  above.  Since 
Christian  neither  asked  questions  nor  detained  him,  Voss  went 
out  in  the  morning  and  returned  in  the  evening  or  even  late 
at  night.  He  did  not  say  where  he  had  been,  or  what  he  had 
seen  or  experienced. 

At  breakfast  on  the  third  morning,  he  said  to  Christian: 
"  It's  a  thankless  task  to  unchain  a  fellow  like  me.  I  breathe 
a  different  breath  and  sleep  a  different  sleep.  Somewhere  my 
soul  is  ranging  about,  and  I'm  chasing  it.  I've  got  to  catch  it 
first,  before  I  know  how  things  are  with  me." 

Christian  did  not  look  up.  "  We're  invited  to  dine  with  Eva 
Sorel  to-night,"  he  said. 

Voss  bowed  ironically.  "  That  invitation  looks  damnably 
like  charity,"  he  said  harshly.  "  I  feel  the  resistance  of  those 


250          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

people  to  me,  and  their  strangeness,  in  my  very  bones.  What 
a  superfluous  comedy!  What  shall  I  do  there?  Nearly  all  of 
them  talk  French.  I'm  a  provincial,  a  villager,  and  ridiculous. 
And  that's  worse  than  being  a  murderer  or  thief.  I  may  make 
up  my  mind  to  commit  arson  or  murder,  so  as  not  to  be  ridicu- 
lous any  more."  He  opened  his  mouth  as  though  to  laugh,  but 
uttered  no  sound. 

"I'm  surprised,  Amadeus,  that  your  thoughts  always  cling 
to  that  one  point,"  Christian  said.  "  Do  you  really  believe 
it  to  be  of  such  decisive  importance?  No  one  cares  whether 
you're  poor  or  rich.  Since  you  appear  in  my  company,  no  one 
questions  your  equality,  or  would  be  so  vulgar  as  to  question 
it.  The  feelings  that  you  express  orginate  in  yourself,  and 
you  seem  to  take  a  kind  of  perverse  joy  in  them.  You  like  to 
torment  yourself,  and  then  revenge  yourself  on  others.  I 
hope  you  won't  take  my  frankness  amiss." 

Amadeus  Voss  grinned.  "  Sometimes,  Christian  Wahnshaffe, 
I'd  like  to  pat  your  head,  as  though  I  were  your  teacher,  and 
say:  You  did  that  very  well.  Yes,  it  was  wonderfully  well 
done.  And  yet  your  little  arrow  went  astray.  To  hit  me, 
you  must  take  better  aim.  It  is  true  that  the  morbidness  is 
deep  in  my  soul,  far  too  deep  to  be  eradicated  by  a  few  inex- 
pensive aphorisms.  When  this  Russian  prince  or  this  Spanish 
legate  shake  hands  with  me,  I  feel  as  though  I  had  forged 
cheques  and  would  be  discovered  in  a  minute.  When  this  lady 
passes  by  me,  with  her  indescribable  fragrance  and  the  rustling 
of  her  garments,  I  grow  dizzy,  as  though  I  dangled  high  over 
an  abyss,  and  my  whole  soul  writhes  in  its  own  humiliation  and 
slavishness.  It  writhes  and  writhes,  and  I  can't  help  it.  I  was 
born  that  way.  This  is  not  my  world,  and  cannot  become  mine. 
The  under  dogs  must  bleed  to  death,  for  the  upper  dogs  con- 
sider that  the  order  of  the  world.  I  belong  to  that  lower 
kind.  My  place  is  with  those  who  have  the  odour  of  decayed 
flesh,  whom  all  avoid,  who  go  about  with  an  eternally  festering 
wound.  The  law  of  my  being  ranges  me  with  them.  I  have 


THE   NAKED   FEET  251 

no  power  to  change  that,  nor  has  any  pleasant  agreement.  This 
is  not  my  world,  Wahnschaffe;  and  if  you  don't  want  me  to 
lose  my  reason  and  do  some  mischief,  you  had  better  take  me 
out  of  it  so  soon  as  possible,  or  else  send  me  away." 

Christian  passed  the  tips  of  his  ringers  over  his  forehead. 
"  Have  patience,  Amadeus.  I  believe  it  is  not  my  world  any 
longer.  Give  me  but  a  little  more  time  in  which  to  straighten 
out  my  own  thoughts." 

Voss's  eyes  clung  to  Christian's  hands  and  lips.  The  words 
had  been  quietly,  almost  coolly  uttered,  yet  there  was  a  deep 
conflict  in  them  and  an  expression  that  had  power  over  Voss. 
"  I  cannot  imagine  a  man  leaving  this  woman,  if  once  he  has 
her  favour,"  he  said,  with  a  hovering  malice  on  his  lips,  "  unless 
she  withdraws  her  favour." 

Christian  could  not  restrain  a  gesture  of  aversion.  "  We'll 
meet  to-night  then,"  he  said,  and  arose. 

An  hour  later  Amadeus  Voss  saw  him  and  Eva  on  the  beach. 
He  was  coming  down  the  dunes,  and  saw  them  on  the  flat 
sands  by  the  foam  of  the  waves.  He  stopped,  shaded  his  eyes 
with  his  hands,  and  gazed  out  over  the  ocean  as  though  watch- 
ing for  a  sail.  The  other  two  did  not  see  him.  They  walked 
along  in  a  rhythmic  unity,  as  of  bodies  that  have  tested  the 
harmony  of  their  vibrations.  After  a  while  they,  too,  stopped 
and  stood  close  together,  and  were  defined  like  two  dark, 
slender  shafts  against  the  iron  grey  of  air  and  water. 

Voss  threw  himself  into  the  sparse,  stiff  grass,  and  buried  his 
forehead  in  the  moist  sand.  Thus  he  lay  many  hours. 

Evening  came.  Its  great  event  was  to  be  the  appearance 
of  Eva  with  the  diamond  Ignifer  in  her  hair.  She  wore  it  in  an 
exquisitely  wrought  setting  of  platinum,  and  it  shone  above  her 
head,  radiant  and  solitary,  like  a  ghostly  flame. 

She  felt  its  presence  in  every  throb  of  her  heart.  It  was  a 
part  of  her,  at  once  her  justification  and  her  crown.  It  was  no 
longer  an  adornment  but  a  blazing  and  convincing  symbol  of 
herself. 


252          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

For  a  while  there  was  an  almost  awestruck  silence.  The 
lovely  Beatrix  Vanleer,  a  Belgian  sculptress,  cried  out  in  her 
astonishment  and  admiration. 

The  smile  of  gentle  intoxication  faded  from  Eva's  face,  and 
her  eyes  turned  far  in  their  sockets,  and  she  saw  Amadeus 
Voss,  whose  face  was  of  a  bluish  pallor. 

His  mouth  was  half  open  like  an  imbecile's,  his  head  thrust 
brutally  forward,  his  hanging  arms  twitched.  He  approached 
slowly,  with  eyes  staring  at  the  ineffable  glow  of  the  jewel. 
Those  who  stood  on  either  side  of  him  were  frightened  and 
made  way.  Eva  turned  her  face  aside,  and  stepped  back  two 
paces.  Susan  emerged  beside  her,  and  laid  protective  arms 
about  her.  At  the  same  moment  Christian  went  up  to  Voss, 
grasped  his  hand,  and  drew  the  quite  obedient  man  aside. 

Christian's  attitude  and  expression  had  something  that 
calmed  every  one.  As  though  nothing  had  happened,  a  vivid 
and  twittering  conversation  arose. 

Voss  and  Christian  stood  on  the  balcony  of  stone.  Voss 
drank  the  salt  sea  air  deep  into  his  lungs.  He  asked  hoarsely: 
"  Was  that  Ignifer?  " 

Christian  nodded.  He  listened  to  the  sea.  The  waves  thun- 
dered like  falling  fragments  of  rock. 

"  I  have  grasped  the  whole  secret  of  your  race,"  Amadeus 
murmured,  and  the  convulsion  in  his  face  melted  under  the 
influence  of  Christian's  presence.  "  I  have  understood  both 
man  and  woman.  In  this  diamond  are  frozen  your  tears  and 
your  shudderings,  your  voluptuousness  and  your  darkness  too. 
It  is  a  bribe  and  an  accursed  delusion,  a  terrible  fetish!  How 
keenly  aware  am  I  now  of  your  days  and  nights,  Wahnschaffe, 
of  all  that  is  between  you  and  her,  since  I  have  seen  the  gleam 
of  this  mineral  which  the  Lord  created  out  of  the  slime,  even 
as  He  created  me  and  you  and  her.  That  stone  is  without 
pain — earthly,  and  utterly  without  pain,  burned  pure  and 
merciless.  My  God,  my  God,  and  think  of  me,  of  me!  " 

Christian  did  not  understand  this  outburst,  but  it  shook 


THE    NAKED   FEET  253 

him  to  the  soul.  Its  power  swept  aside  the  vexation  which 
Voss's  shameless  eloquence  had  aroused.  He  listened  to 
the  sea. 

Voss  pulled  himself  together.  He  went  up  to  the  balustrade, 
and  said  with  unnatural  self-control,  "  You  counselled  patience 
to-day.  What  was  your  purpose?  It  sounded  as  equivocal 
and  as  general  as  all  you  say  to  me.  It  is  convenient  to  talk 
of  patience.  It  is  a  luxury  like  any  other  luxury  at  your  com- 
mand, only  less  costly.  There  is  no  word,  however,  worthier 
of  hatred  or  contempt.  It  is  always  false.  Closely  looked  upon, 
it  means  cowardice  and  sloth.  What  have  you  in  mind?  " 

Christian  did  not  answer.  Or,  rather,  he  assumed  having 
answered;  and  after  a  long  while,  and  out  of  deep  meditation, 
he  asked:  "  Do  you  believe  that  it  is  of  any  use?  " 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Voss,  and  looked  at  him  help- 
lessly. "  Use?  To  what  end  or  how?  " 

Christian,  however,  did  not  enlighten  him  further. 

Voss  wanted  to  go  home,  but  Christian  begged  him  to  stay, 
and  so  they  went  in  and  joined  the  others  at  dinner. 


xv 

When  the  dinner  was  over,  the  company  returned  to  the 
drawing-room.  The  conversation  began  in  French,  but  in 
deference  to  Mr.  Bradshaw,  who  did  not  understand  that 
language,  changed  to  German. 

The  American  directed  the  conversation  toward  the  dying 
races  of  the  New  World,  and  the  tragedy  of  their  disappearance. 
Eva  encouraged  him,  and  he  told  of  an  experience  he  had  had 
among  the  Navaho  Indians. 

The  Navaho  tribe  had  offered  the  longest  resistance  to 
Christianity  and  to  its  civilization.  To  subdue  them  the 
United  States  Government  forbade  the  practice  of  the  imme- 
morial Yabe  Chi  dance,  the  most  solemn  ritual  of  their  cult. 
The  commissioner  who  was  to  convey  this  order,  and  on  whose 


254          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

staff  Mr.  Bradshaw  had  been,  yielded  to  the  passionate  en- 
treaty of  the  tribal  chief,  and  gave  permission  for  a  final  cele- 
bration of  the  dance.  At  midnight,  by  the  light  of  campfires 
and  of  pine  torches,  the  brilliantly  feathered  and  tattooed 
dancers  and  singers  appeared.  The  singers  sang  songs  which 
told  of  the  fates  of  three  heroes,  who  had  been  captured  by  a 
hostile  tribe  and  freed  by  the  god  Ya.  He  taught  them  to  ride 
the  lightning;  they  fled  into  the  cave  of  the  Grizzly  Bear,  and 
thence  into  the  realm  of  butterflies.  The  dances  gave  a  plastic 
representation  of  these  adventures.  While  the  craggy  moun- 
tains re-echoed  the  songs,  and  the  contorted  dances  in  the 
tawny  glow  rose  to  an  ecstasy  of  despair,  a  terrific  storm  broke. 
Cascades  of  water  poured  from  the  sky  and  filled  the  dried 
river-beds  with  roaring  torrents;  the  fires  were  extinguished; 
the  medicine  men  prayed  with  uplifted  arms;  the  dancers  and 
singers,  certain  now  that  they  had  incurred  the  anger  of  their 
god,  whose  sacred  ceremony  they  had  consented  to  betray, 
hurled  themselves  in  their  wild  pain  into  the  turbulent  waters, 
which  carried  their  bodies  far  down  into  the  plain. 

When  Mr.  Bradshaw  had  ended,  Eva  said:  "The  gods  are, 
vengeful;  even  the  gentlest  will  defend  their  seats." 

"  That  is  a  heathen  view,"  said  Amadeus,  in  a  sharp  and 
challenging  voice.  "  There  are  no  gods.  There  are  idols,  to  be 
sure,  and  these  must  be  broken."  He  looked  defiantly  about 
him,  and  added  in  a  dragging  tone:  "  For  the  Lord  saith,  no 
man  can  look  upon  me  and  live." 

Smiles  met  his  outburst.  Tavera  had  not  understood,  and 
turned  to  Wiguniewski,  who  whispered  an  explanation  in 
French.  Then  the  Spaniard  smiled  too,  compassionately  and 
maliciously. 

Voss  arose  with  a  tormented  look  on  his  face.  The  merri- 
ment in  those  faces  was.  like  a  bodily  chastisement  to  him. 
From  behind  his  glittering  eye-glasses  he  directed  a  venomous 
glance  toward  Eva,  and  said  in  troubled  tones:  "  In  the  same 
context  of  Scripture  the  Lord  bids  Israel  hurl  aside  its  adorn- 


THE    NAKED   FEET  255 

ments  that  He  may  see  what  He  will  do  with  them.  The  mean- 
ing is  clear." 

"  He  cannot  expiate  the  lust  of  the  eye,"  Christian  thought, 
and  avoided  Eva's  glance. 

Amadeus  Voss  left  the  company  and  the  house.  On  the 
street  he  ran  as  though  pursued,  clasping  his  hands  to  his 
temples.  He  had  pushed  his  derby  hat  far  back.  When  he 
reached  his  room,  he  opened  his  box  and  drew  out  a  package 
of  letters.  They  were  the  stolen  letters  of  the  unknown  woman 
F.  He  sat  down  by  his  lamp,  and  read  with  tense  absorption 
and  a  burning  forehead.  It  was  not  the  first  night  that  he 
had  passed  thus. 

When  Eva  was  alone  with  Christian,  she  asked:  "  Why  did 
you  bring  that  man  with  you?  " 

He  laughed,  and  lifted  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her 
through  many  flights  of  rooms  and  out  of  light  into  darkness. 

"  The  sea  cries!  "  her  lips  said  at  his  ear. 

He  prayed  that  all  sounds  might  die  out  of  the  world  except 
the  thunder  of  the  sea  and  that  young  voice  at  his  ear.  He 
prayed  that  those  two  might  silence  the  disquiet  that  overcame 
him  in  her  very  embraces  and  made  him,  at  the  end  of  every 
ecstasy,  yearn  for  its  renewal. 

That  slender,  passionate  body  throbbed  toward  him.  Yet 
he  heard  the  lamentation  of  an  alien  voice:  What  shall  we  do? 

"  Why  did  you  bring  this  man?  "  Eva  asked  him  far  in  the 
night,  between  sleep  and  sleep.  "  I  cannot  bear  him.  There  is 
always  sweat  on  his  forehead.  He  comes  from  a  sinister 
world." 

There  was  a  bluish  twilight  in  the  room  that  came  from  the 
blue  flame  of  a  blue  lamp,  and  a  bluish  darkness  lay  beyond  the 
windows. 

"  Why  don't  you  answer  me?  "  she  urged,  and  raised  her- 
self, showing  the  pale  face  amid  its  wilderness  of  brown  hair. 

He  had  no  answer  for  her.  He  feared  the  insufficiency  of 
any  explanation,  as  well  as  the  replies  that  she  would  find. 


256          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  it  all?  What  ails  you,  dearest?  " 
Eva  drew  him  toward  her,  and  clung  to  him,  and  kissed  his 
eyes  thirstily. 

"  I'll  ask  him  to  avoid  your  presence,"  said  Christian.  And 
suddenly  he  saw  himself  and  Voss  in  the  farm  yard  of  Netters- 
heim,  saw  the  kneeling  men  and  maid  servants,  the  old  rusty 
lantern,  the  dead  woman,  and  the  carpenter  who  was  measur- 
ing her  for  her  coffin. 

"  Tell  me  what  he  means  to  you,"  whispered  Eva.  "  It  seems 
to  me  suddenly  as  though  you  were  gone.  Where  are  you 
really?  Tell  me,  dear  friend." 

"  You  should  have  let  me  love  you  in  those  old  days  in 
Paris,"  said  Christian  gently,  and  softly  rested  his  cheek 
against  her  bosom,  "  in  those  days  when  Crammon  and  I  came 
to  you." 

"  Speak,  only  speak,"  Eva  breathed,  seeking  to  hide  the 
fright  in  her  heart. 

Her  eyes  gleamed,  and  her  skin  was  like  luminous  white 
satin.  In  the  darkness  her  face  had  a  spiritualized  thinness; 
the  restrained  charm  of  her  gestures  mastered  the  hour,  and 
her  smile  was  deep  and  intricate  of  meaning,  and  everything 
about  her  was  play  and  mirroring  and  raptness  and  unexpected 
magic.  Christian  looked  upon  her. 

"  Do  you  remember  words  that  you  once  spoke  to  me?  "  he 
asked.  "You  said:  '  Love  is  an  art  like  poetry  or  music,  and 
he  who  does  not  understand  that,  finds  no  grace  in  love's 
sight.'  Were  not  those  your  words?  " 

"  Yes,  they  were.    Speak  to  me,  my  darling!  " 

He  held  her  in  his  arms,  and  the  life  of  her  body,  its  warmth, 
its  blood  that  was  conscious  of  him,  and  its  vibration  that  was 
toward  him,  made  speech  a  little  easier.  "  You  see,"  he  said 
thoughtfully,  and  caressed  her  hand,  "I  have  only  enjoyed 
women.  Nothing  more.  I  have  been  ignorant  of  that  love 
which  is  an  art.  It  was  so  easy.  They  adored  me,  and  I  took 
no  pains.  They  put  no  hindrances  on  my  path,  and  so  my 


THE   NAKED   FEET  257 

foot  passed  over  them.  Not  one  demanded  a  fulfilment  of  me. 
They  were  happy  enough  if  I  was  but  contented.  But  you, 
Eva,  you're  not  satisfied  with  me.  You  look  at  me  searchingly 
and  watch  me ;  and  your  vigil  continues  even  at  those  moments 
when  one  floats  beyond  thought  and  knowledge.  And  it  is  be- 
cause you  are  not  satisfied  with  me.  Or  is  that  an  error,  a 
deception?  " 

"  It  is  so  very  late,"  said  Eva,  and,  leaning  her  head  back 
upon  the  pillows,  she  closed  her  eyes.  She  listened  to  the 
perished  echo  of  her  own  voice,  and  the  oppression  of  her 
heart  almost  robbed  her  of  breath. 

XVI 

It  was  in  another  night.  They  had  been  jesting  and  telling 
each  other  amusing  stories,  and  at  last  they  had  grown 
weary. 

Suddenly  in  the  darkness  outside  of  the  window  Christian 
had  a  vision  of  his  father  and  of  the  dog  Freia ;  and  his  father 
had  the  tread  of  a  lonely  man.  Never  had  Christian  seen  lone- 
liness so  visibly  embodied.  The  dog  was  his  only  companion. 
He  had  sought  for  another  friend,  but  there  had  been  none  to 
go  with  him. 

"  How  is  that  possible?  "  Christian  thought. 

His  senses  were  lost  in  a  strange  drowsiness,  even  while  he 
held  Eva's  beautiful  body,  which  was  as  smooth  and  cool  as 
ivory.  And  in  this  drowsiness  visions  emerged  of  his  brother, 
his  sister,  his  mother,  and  about  each  of  them  was  that  great 
loneliness  and  desolation. 

"  How  is  that  possible?  "  Christian  thought.  "  Their  lives 
are  thronged  with  people." 

But  he  answered  himself,  and  said:  "  Is  not  your  own  life 
likewise  thronged  with  people  to  suffocation,  and  do  you  not 
also  feel  that  same  loneliness  and  desolateness?  " 

Now  a  dark  object  seemed  to  descend  upon  him.  It  was  a 
coat — a  wet,  dripping  coat.  And  at  the  same  moment  some 


258          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

one  called  out  to  him:  "  Arise,  Christian,  arise!  "  But  he  could 
not  arise,  for  those  ivory  arms  held  him  fast. 

Suddenly  he  became  aware  of  Letitia.  She  uttered  but  one 
word:  "  Why?  "  It  seemed  to  him,  while  he  slept,  if  indeed  he 
slept,  that  he  should  have  chosen  Letitia,  who  lived  but  for  her 
dreams,  her  yearnings  and  imaginings,  and  who  had  been 
sacrificed  with  her  dreams  to  the  vulgar  world  of  reality.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  though  Letitia,  pointing  to  Eva,  were  saying: 
"  What  do  you  seek  of  her?  She  knows  nothing  of  you,  but 
weaves  at  the  web  of  her  own  life.  She  is  ambitious,  and  can 
give  you  no  help  in  your  suffering;  and  it  is  only  to  forget  and 
deaden  the  pain  of  your  soul  that  you  are  wasting  yourself 
upon  her." 

Christian  was  astonished  to  find  Letitia  so  wise.  He  was 
almost  inclined  to  smile  at  her  wisdom.  But  he  knew  now 
clearly  that  he  was  suffering.  It  was  a  suffering  of  an  un- 
fathomable nature,  which  grew  from  hour  to  hour  and  from 
day  to  day,  like  the  spreading  of  a  gangrened  wound. 

His  head  rested  on  the  shoulder  of  his  beloved;  her  little 
breasts  rose  from  the  violet  shadows  and  had  trembling  con- 
tours. He  felt  her  beauty  with  every  nerve,  and  her  strange- 
ness and  exquisite  lightness.  He  felt  that  he  loved  her  with 
all  his  thoughts  and  with  every  fibre  of  his  flesh,  and  that, 
despite  it  all,  he  could  find  no  help  in  her. 

And  again  a  voice  cried:  "  Arise,  Christian,  arise!  "  But  he 
could  not  arise.  For  he  loved  this  woman,  and  feared  life 
without  her. 

The  dawn  was  breaking  when  Eva  turned  her  face  to  him 
again:  "Where  are  you?  "  she  asked.  "What  are  you  gazing 
at?" 

He  answered:  "  I  am  with  you." 

"  To  the  last  stirrings  of  your  thought?  " 

11 1  don't  know.    Who  knows  the  last  recesses  of  his  mind?  " 

"  I  want  you  wholly.  With  every  breath.  And  something  of 
you  escapes." 


THE    NAKED   FEET  259 

"  And  you,"  Christian  asked  evasively,  "  are  you  utterly  with 
me?" 

She  answered  passionately,  and  with  an  imperious  smile,  as 
she  drew  closer  to  him:  "  You  are  more  mine  than  I  am  yours." 

"Why?" 

"  Does  it  frighten  you?  Are  you  miserly  in  your  love? 
Yes,  you  are  more  mine.  I  have  broken  the  spell  that  held  you 
and  melted  your  soul  of  stone." 

"  Melted  my  soul  .  .  .  ?  "  Christian  asked  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  I  have,  my  darling.  Don't  you  know  that  I'm  a  sorceress? 
I  have  power  over  the  fish  in  the  sea,  the  horse  on  the  sod,  the 
vulture  in  the  air,  and  the  invisible  deities  that  are  spoken  of 
in  the  books  of  the  Persians.  I  can  make  of  you  what  I  would, 
and  you  must  yield." 

"  That  is  true,"  Christian  admitted. 

"  But  your  soul  does  not  look  at  me,"  Eva  cried,  and  flung 
her  arms  about  him,  "  it  is  an  alien  soul,  dark,  hostile,  un- 
known." 

"  Perhaps  you're  misusing  the  power  you  have  over  me, 
and  my  soul  resists." 

"  It  is  to  obey— that  is  all." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not  wholly  sure  of  you." 

"  I  can  give  your  soul  only  the  assurance  of  the  hour  that 
is." 

"  What  are  you  planning?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me!  Hold  me  fast  with  your  thoughts.  Don't 
let  me  go  for  a  moment,  or  we  are  lost  to  each  other.  Cling 
to  me  with  all  your  might." 

Christian  answered:  "  It  seems  to  me  as  though  I  ought  to 
know  what  you  mean.  But  I  don't  want  to  know  it.  Because 
you  see,  you  ...  I  ...  all  this  .  .  .  it's  too  insig- 
nificant." He  shook  his  head  in  a  troubled  way.  "  Too  insig- 
nificant." 

"  What,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  Eva  cried  in  fright, 


260          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

and  clung  to  his  right  hand  with  both  hers.  Tensely  she 
looked  into  his  face. 

"  Too  insignificant,"  Christian  repeated  stubbornly,  as 
though  he  could  find  no  other  words. 

Then  he  reflected  on  all  he  had  said  and  heard  with  his 
accustomed  scepticism  and  toughmindedness,  and  arose  and 
bade  his  friend  good-night. 

XVII 

Edgar  Lorm  was  playing  in  Karlsruhe.  On  a  certain  evening 
he  had  increased  the  tempo  of  his  playing,  and  given  vent  to 
his  disgust  with  his  role,  the  piece,  his  colleagues,  and  his 
audience  so  obviously  that  there  had  been  hissing  after  the 
last  act. 

"I'm  a  poor  imbecile,"  he  said  to  his  colleagues  at  their 
supper  in  a  restaurant.  "  Every  play  actor  is  a  poor  imbecile." 
He  looked  at  them  all  contemptuously,  and  smacked  his 
lips. 

"  We  must  have  had  more  inner  harmony  in  the  days  when 
we  were  suspected  of  stealing  shirts  from  the  housewife's  line 
and  children  were  frightened  at  our  name.  Don't  you  think  so? 
Or  maybe  you're  quite  comfortable  in  your  stables." 

His  companions  observed  a  respectful  silence.  Wasn't  he 
the  famous  man  who  filled  the  houses,  and  whom  both  managers 
and  critics  flattered? 

Dust  was  whirling  in  the  streets,  the  dust  of  summer,  as  he 
returned  to  his  hotel.  How  desolate  I  feel,  he  thought,  and 
shook  himself.  Yet  his  step  was  free  and  firm  as  a  young 
huntsman's. 

When  he  had  received  his  key  and  turned  toward  the  lift, 
Judith  Imhof  suddenly  stood  before  him.  He  started,  and  then 
drew  back. 

"  I  am  ready  to  be  poor,"  she  said,  almost  without  moving 
her  lips. 

"  Are  you  here  on  business,  dear  lady?  "  Lorm  asked  in  a 


THE   NAKED    FEET  261 

clear,  cold  voice.  "  Undoubtedly  you  are  expecting  your  hus- 
band  ?  " 

"  I  am  expecting  no  one  but  you,  and  I  am  alone,"  answered 
Judith,  and  her  eyes  blazed. 

He  considered  the  situation  with  a  wrinkled  face  that  made 
him  look  old  and  homely.  Then  with  a  gesture  he  invited  har 
to  follow  him,  and  they  entered  the  empty  reading  room.  A 
single  electric  lamp  burned  above  the  table  covered  with  news- 
papers. They  sat  down  in  two  leather  armchairs.  Judith  toyed 
nervously  with  her  gold  mesh-bag.  She  wore  a  travelling  frock, 
and  her  face  was  tired. 

Lorm  began  the  conversation.  "  First  of  all:  Is  there  any 
folly  in  your  mind  that  can  still  be  prevented?  " 

"  None,"  Judith  answered  in  a  frosty  tone.  "  If  the  condi- 
tion you  made  was  only  a  trick  to  scare  me  off,  and  you  are 
cowardly  enough  to  repudiate  it  at  the  moment  of  its  fulfil- 
ment, then,  of  course,  I  have  been  self-deceived,  and  my  busi- 
ness here  is  at  an  end.  Don't  soothe  me  with  well-meant 
speeches.  The  matter  was  too  serious  to  me  for  that." 

"  That  is  sharply  and  bitterly  said,  Judith,  but  terribly  im- 
petuous," Lorm  said,  with  quiet  irony.  "  I'm  an  old  hand  at 
living,  and  far  from  young,  and  a  good  bit  too  experienced  to 
fly  into  the  passion  of  a  Romeo  at  even  the  most  precious 
offers  and  surprises  of  a  woman.  Suppose  we  discuss  what 
you've  done  like  two  friends,  and  you  postpone  for  a  bit  any 
final  judgment  of  my  behaviour." 

Judith  told  him  that  she  had  written  her  father,  and  re- 
quested him  to  make  some  other  disposition  of  the  annual 
income  which  he  had  settled  on  her  at  the  time  of  her  marriage, 
since  she  had  determined  to  get  a  divorce  from  Felix  Imhof, 
and  to  marry  a  man  who  had  made  this  step  a  definite  condi- 
tion of  their  union.  At  the  same  time  she  had  made  a  legal 
declaration  of  her  renunciation  before  a  notary,  which  she 
had  brought  to  show  Lorm,  and  intended  thereupon  to  send  on 
to  her  father.  All  this  she  told  him  very  calmly.  Felix  had 


262          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

known  nothing  of  her  intentions  at  the  time  of  her  departure. 
She  had  left  a  note  for  him  in  the  care  of  his  valet.  "  Explana- 
tions are  vain  under  such  circumstances,"  she  said.  "  To  tell 
a  man  whom  one  is  leaving  why  one  is  leaving  him  is  as 
foolish  as  turning  back  the  hands  of  the  clock  in  the  hope  of 
really  bringing  back  hours  that  are  dead.  He  knows  where 
I  am  and  what  I  want.  That's  enough.  Anyhow,  it's  not  ttye 
sort  of  thing  he  comprehends,  and  there  are  so  many  affairs 
in  his  busy  life  that  one  more  or  less  will  make  little  dif- 
ference." 

Lorm  sat  quietly,  his  head  bent  forward,  his  chin  resting  on 
the  mother-of  pearl  handle  of  his  stick.  His  carefully  combed 
hair,  which  was  brown  and  still  rather  thick,  gleamed  in  the 
light.  His  brows  were  knit.  In  the  lines  about  his  nose,  and 
his  wearied  actor's  mouth,  there  was  a  deep  joylessness. 

A  waiter  appeared  at  the  door  and  vanished  again. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you're  letting  yourself  in  for, 
Judith,"  Lorm  said,  and  tapped  the  floor  lightly  with  his  feet. 

"  Then  tell  me  about  it,  so  that  I  can  adjust  myself." 

"  I'm  an  actor,"  he  said  almost  threateningly. 

"  I  know  it." 

He  laid  his  stick  on  the  table,  and  folded  his  hands.  "  I'm  an 
actor,"  he  repeated,  and  his  face  assumed  the  appearance  of  a 
mask.  "  My  profession  involves  my  representing  human  na- 
ture at  its  moments  of  extreme  expressiveness.  The  fascina- 
tion of  the  process  consists  in  the  artificial  concentration  of 
passion,  its  immediate  projection,  and  the  assigning  to  it  of 
consequences  that  reality  rarely  or  never  affords.  And  so  it 
naturally  happens — and  this  deception  is  the  fatal  law  of  the 
actor's  life — that  my  person,  this  Edgar  Lorm  who  faces  you 
here,  is  surrounded  by  a  frame  that  suits  him  about  as  well  as 
a  Gothic  cathedral  window  would  suit  a  miniature.  A  further 
consequence  is  that  I  lack  all  power  of  adjustment  to  any 
ordered  social  life,  and  all  my  attempts  to  bring  myself  in 
harmony  with  such  a  life  have  been  pitiable  failures.  I  strug- 


THENAKEDFEET  263 

gle  and  dance  in  a  social  vacuum.  My  art  is  beaten 
foam. 

"  I've  been  told  of  people  who  have  a  divided  personality. 
Well,  mine  is  doubled,  quadrupled.  The  real  me  is  extinct.  I 
detest  the  whole  business;  I  practise  my  profession  because  I 
haven't  any  other.  I'd  like  to  be  a  librarian  in  the  service  of  a 
king  or  a  rich  man  who  didn't  bother  me,  or  own  a  farm  in 
some  Swiss  valley.  I'm  not  talking  about  the  accidental 
miseries  of  the  theatre,  disgusting  and  repulsive  as  they  are — 
the  masquerading,  the  lies  and  vanities.  And  I  don't  want  you 
to  believe  either  that  I'm  uttering  the  average  lament  of  the 
spoiled  mime,  which  is  made  up  of  inordinate  self-esteem  and 
of  coquettish  fishing  for  flattering  contradiction. 

"  My  suffering  lies  a  little  deeper.  Its  cause  is,  if  you  will  try 
to  understand  me,  the  spoken  word.  It  has  caused  a  process 
within  me  that  has  poisoned  my  being  and  destroyed  my  soul. 
What  word,  you  may  ask?  The  words  that  pass  between  man 
and  man,  husband  and  wife,  friend  and  friend,  myself  and 
others.  Language,  which  you  utter  quite  naturally,  has  in  my 
case  passed  through  all  the  gamuts  of  expression  and  all  the 
temperatures  of  the  mind.  You  use  it  as  a  peasant  uses  his 
scythe,  the  tailor  his  needle,  the  soldier  his  weapon.  TO  me  it 
is  a  property  and  a  ghost,  a  mollusk  and  an  echo,  a  thing  of  a 
thousand  transformations,  but  lacking  outline  and  kernel.  I 
cry  out  words,  whisper  them,  stammer  them,  moan,  flute,  dis- 
tend them,  and  fill  the  meaningless  with  meaning,  and  am  de- 
pressed to  the  earth  by  the  sublime.  And  I've  been  doing  that 
for  five  and  twenty  years.  It  has  worn  me  thin;  it  has  split 
my  gums  and  hollowed  out  my  chest. 

"  Hence  all  words,  sincere  as  they  may  be  on  others' 
lips,  are  untrue  on  mine,  untrue  to  me.  They  tyrannise 
over  me  and  torment  me,  flicker  through  the  walls,  re- 
call to  me  my  powerlessness  and  unrewarded  sacrifices,  and 
change  me  into  a  helpless  puppet.  Can  I  ever,  without 
being  ashamed  to  the  very  marrow,  say:  I  love?  How  many 


264          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

meanings  have  not  those  words!  How  many  have  I  been 
forced  to  give  them!  If  I  utter  them  I  practise  merely  the 
old  trick  of  my  trade,  and  make  the  pasteboard  device  upon  my 
head  look  like  a  golden  crown.  Consider  me  closely  and  you 
will  see  the  meaning  of  literal  despair.  Words  have  been  my 
undoing.  It  sounds  queer,  I  know;  but  it  is  true.  It  may  be 
that  the  actor  is  the  absolute  example  of  hopeless  despair." 

Judith  looked  at  him  rather  emptily.  "  I  don't  suppose 
that  we'll  torture  each  other  much  with  words,"  she  said,  merely 
to  say  something. 

But  Edgar  Lorm  gave  to  this  saying  a  subtle  interpretation, 
and  nodded  gratefully.  "  What  an  infinitely  desirable  condition 
that  would  be,"  he  answered,  in  his  stateliest  manner;  "be- 
cause, you  see,  words  and  emotions  are  like  brothers  and 
sisters.  The  thing  that  I  detest  saying  is  mouldy  and  flat  to  me 
in  the  realm  of  feeling  too.  One  should  be  silent  as  fate.  It 
may  be  that  I  am  spoiled  for  any  real  experience — drained  dry. 
I  have  damned  little  confidence  in  myself,  and  nothing  but 
pity  for  any  hand  stretched  out  to  save  me.  However  that 
may  be,"  he  ended,  and  arose  with  elastic  swiftness,  "  I  am 
willing  to  try." 

He  held  out  his  hand  as  to  a  comrade.  Charmed  by  the 
vividness  and  knightly  grace  of  his  gesture,  Judith  took  his 
hand  and  smiled. 

"  Where  are  you  stopping?  "  he  asked. 

"  In  this  hotel." 

Chatting  quite  naturally  he  accompanied  her  to  the  door 
of  her  room. 

xvni 

On  the  next  afternoon  Felix  Imhof  suddenly  appeared  at 
the  hotel.  He  sent  up  his  card  to  Judith,  and  waited  in  the 
hall.  He  walked  up  and  down,  swinging  his  little  cane,  care- 
lessly whistling  through  his  thick  lips,  his  brain  burdened  with 
affairs,  speculations,  stock  quotations,  a  hundred  obligations 


THENAKEDFEET  265 

and  appointments.  But  whenever  he  passed  the  tall  windows, 
he  threw  a  curious  and  merry  glance  out  into  the  street,  where 
two  boys  were  having  a  fight. 

But  now  and  then  his  face  grew  dark,  and  a  quiver  passed 
over  it. 

The  page  returned,  and  bade  him  come  up. 

Judith  was  surprised  to  see  him.  He  began  to  talk  eagerly 
at  once.  "  I  have  business  in  Liverpool,  and  wanted  to  see  you 
once  more  before  leaving.  A  crowd  of  people  came,  who  all 
had  some  business  with  you.  Invitations  came  for  you,  and 
telephone  calls;  your  dressmaker  turned  up,  and  letters,  and 
I  was,  of  course,  quite  helpless.  I  can't  very  well  receive  people 
with  the  agreeable  information  that  my  wife  has  just  taken 
French  leave  of  me.  There  are  a  thousand  things;  you  have 
to  disentangle  them,  or  the  confusion  will  be  endless." 

They  talked  for  a  while  of  the  indifferent  things  which, 
according  to  him,  had  brought  him  here.  Then  he  added: 
"  I  had  an  audience  with  the  Prince  Regent  this  forenoon. 
He  bestowed  a  knighthood  on  me  yesterday." 

Judith's  face  flushed,  and  she  had  the  expression  of  one 
who,  in  a  state  of  hypnosis,  recalls  his  waking  consciousness. 

Felix  tapped  against  his  faultlessly  creased  trousers  with 
his  stick.  "  I  beg  your  pardon  for  venturing  any  criticism," 
he  said,  "  but  I  can't  help  observing  that  the  whole  matter 
might"  have  been  better  managed.  To  run  off  with  that  degree 
of  suddenness — well,  it  wasn't  quite  the  proper  thing,  a  little 
beneath  us,  not  quite  fair." 

Judith  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Things  that  are  inevitable 
might  as  well  be  done  quickly.  And  I  don't  see  that  your 
equanimity  is  at  all  impaired." 

"Equanimity!  Nonsense!  Doesn't  enter  the  question." 
He  stood,  as  was  his  habit,  with  legs  stretched  far  apart,  rock- 
ing to  and  fro  a  little,  and  regarding  his  gleaming  boots. 
"  What  has  equanimity  to  do  with  it?  We're  cultivated  people. 
I'm  neither  a  tiger  nor  a  Philistine.  Nihil  humanum  a  me 


266          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

alienum,  et  cetera.  You  simply  don't  know  me.  And 
it  doesn't  astonish  me,  for  what  chance  have  we  ever  had  to 
cultivate  each  other's  acquaintance?  Marriage  gave  us  no 
opportunity.  We  should  retrieve  our  lost  occasions.  It  is  this 
wish  that  I  should  like  to  take  with  me  into  my  renewed 
bachelorhood.  You  must  promise  not  to  avoid  me  as  rigor- 
ously in  the  future  as  you  did  during  the  eight  months  of  our 
married  life." 

"  If  it  will  give  you  any  pleasure,  I  promise  gladly/'  Judith 
answered  good-humouredly. 

With  that  they  parted. 

An  hour  later  Felix  Imhof  sat  in  the  train.  With  protruding 
eyes  he  stared  at  the  passing  landscape  until  darkness  fell. 
He  desired  conversation,  argument,  the  relief  of  some  projec- 
tion of  his  inner  self.  With  wrinkled  brow  he  watched  the 
strangers  about  him  who  knew  nothing  of  him  or  his  inner 
wealth,  of  his  great,  rolling  ideas,  or  his  far-reaching 
plans. 

At  Diisseldorf  he  left  the  train.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  do  so  at  the  last  possible  moment.  He  checked  his 
luggage,  and  huddled  in  his  coat,  walked,  a  tall,  lean  figure, 
through  the  midnight  of  the  dark  and  ancient  streets. 

He  stopped  in  front  of  one  of  the  oldest  houses.  In  this 
house  he  had  passed  his  youth.  All  the  windows  were  dark. 
"  Hello,  boy!  "  he  shouted  toward  the  window  behind  which 
he  had  once  slept.  The  walls  echoed  his  voice.  "  O  name- 
less boy,"  he  said,  "  where  do  you  come  from?  "  He  was  ac- 
customed to  say  of  himself  often:  "  I  am  of  obscure  origin  like 
Caspar  Hauser." 

But  no  secret  weighed  upon  him,  not  even  that  of  his  own 
unknown  descent.  He  was  a  man  of  his  decade — stripped  of 
mystery,  open  to  all  the  winds. 

He  entered  a  house,  which  he  remembered  from  his  student 
days.  In  a  large  room,  lined  with  greasy  mirrors,  there  were 
fifteen  or  twenty  half-dressed  girls.  In  his  hat  and  coat  he  sat 


THENAKEDFEET  267 

down  at  the  piano  and  played  with  the  false  energy  of  the 
dilettante. 

"  Girls,"  he  said,  "  I've  got  a  mad  rage  in  me!  "  The  girls 
played  tricks  on  him  as  he  sat  there.  They  hung  a  crimson 
shawl  over  his  shoulders  and  danced. 

"  I'm  in  a  rage,  girls,"  he  repeated.  "  It's  got  to  be  drowned 
out."  He  ordered  champagne  by  the  pailful. 

The  doors  were  locked.    The  girls  screeched  with  delight. 

"  Do  something  to  relieve  my  misery,  girls,"  he  commanded, 
bade  half  a  dozen  stand  in  a  row  and  open  their  mouths.  Then 
he  rolled  up  hundred  mark  notes  like  cigarettes,  and  stuck 
them  between  the  girls'  teeth.  They  almost  smothered  him 
with  their  caresses. 

And  he  drank  and  drank  until  he  lost  consciousness. 


XIX 

Christian  could  not  be  without  Eva.  If  he  left  her  for  the 
shortest  period,  the  world  about  him  grew  dark. 

Yet  all  their  relations  had  the  pathos  of  farewells.  If  he 
walked  beside  her,  it  seemed  to  be  for  the  last  time.  Every 
touch  of  their  hands,  every  meeting  of  their  eyes  had  the  dark 
glow  and  pain  of  the  irrevocable. 

His  love  for  her  was  in  harmony  with  this  condition.  It 
was  clinging,  giving,  patient,  at  times  even  obedient. 

It  showed  its  nature  in  the  way  he  held  her  cloak  for  her, 
gave  her  a  glass  that  her  lips  were  to  touch,  supported  her 
when  she  was  weary,  waited  for  her  if  she  was  later  than  he 
at  some  appointed  spot. 

She  felt  that  often  and  questioned  him;  but  he  had  no 
answer.  He  might  have  conveyed  his  sensation  of  an  eternal 
farewell,  but  he  could  not  have  told  her  what  was  to  follow  it. 
And  it  became  very  clear  to  him,  that  not  a  farewell  from  her 
alone  was  involved,  but  a  farewell  from  everything  in  the  world 
that  had  hitherto  been  dear  and  pleasant  and  indispensable  to 


268          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

him.  Beyond  that  fact  he  understood  nothing;  he  had  no  plans 
and  did  not  make  any. 

He  was  so  void  of  any  desire  or  demand  that  Eva  yielded 
Recklessly  to  a  hundred  wishes,  and  was  angry  when  none 
remained  unfulfilled.  She  wanted  to  see  the  real  ocean.  He 
rented  a  yacht,  and  they  cruised  on  the  Atlantic  for  two 
weeks.  She  had  a  longing  for  Paris,  and  he  took  her  there  in 
his  car.  They  had  dinner  at  Foyot  in  the  Rue  de  Tournon, 
where  they  had  invited  friends — writers,  painters,  musicians. 
On  the  following  day  they  returned.  They  heard  of  a  castle 
in  Normandy  which  was  said  to  be  like  a  dream  of  the  early 
Middle  Age.  She  desired  to  see  it  by  moonlight;  so  they  set 
out  while  the  moon  was  full  and  cloudless  nights  were  expected. 
Then  the  cathedral  at  Rouen  lured  her ;  next  the  famous  roses 
of  a  certain  Baron  Zerkaulen  near  Ghent;  then  an  excursion 
into  the  forest  of  Ardennes,  or  a  sunset  over  the  Zuyder  Zee, 
or  a  ride  in  the  park  at  Richmond,  or  a  Rembrandt  at  The 
Hague,  or  a  festive  procession  in  Antwerp. 

"  Do  you  never  get  tired?  "  Christian  asked  one  day,  with 
that  unquiet  smile  of  his  that  seemed  a  trifle  insincere. 

Eva  answered:  "  The  world  is  big  and  youth  is  brief.  Beauty 
yearns  toward  me,  exists  for  me,  and  droops  when  I  am  gone. 
Since  Ignifer  is  mine,  my  hunger  seems  insatiable.  It  is  radiant 
over  my  earth,  and  makes  all  my  paths  easy.  You  see,  dear, 
what  you  have  done." 

"  Beware  of  Ignifer,"  said  Christian,  with  that  same,  ap- 
parently secretive  smile. 

Eva's  lids  drooped  heavily.  "  Fyodor  Szilaghin  has  arrived," 
she  said. 

"  There  are  so  many,"  Christian  answered,  "  I  can't  pos- 
sibly know  them  all." 

"  You  see  none,  but  they  all  see  you,"  said  Eva.  "  They  all 
wonder  at  you  and  ask:  Who  is  that  slender,  distinguished  man 
with  very  white  teeth  and  blue  eyes?  Do  you  not  hear  their 
whispering?  They  make  me  vain  of  you." 


THE    NAKED   FEET  269 

"  What  do  they  know  of  me?    Let  them  be." 

"  Women  grow  pale  when  you  approach.  Yesterday  on  the 
promenade  there  was  a  flower-seller,  a  Flemish  girl.  She 
looked  after  you,  and  then  she  began  to  sing.  Did  you  not 
hear?  " 

"  No.    What  was  the  song  she  sang?  " 

Eva  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  and  sang  softly  and 
with  an  expression  on  her  lips  that  was  half  pain  and  half 
archness: 

" '  Ou  sont  nos  amoureuses  ? 
Elles  sont  au  tombeau, 
Dans  un  sejour  plus  beau 
Elles  sont  heureuses. 
Elles  sont  pres  des  anges 
Au  fond  du  ciel  bleu, 
Ou  elles  chantent  les  louanges 
De  la  Mere  de  Dieu.' 

"  It  touched  my  very  soul,  and  for  a  minute  I  hated  you. 
Ah,  how  much  beauty  of  feeling  streams  from  human  hearts, 
and  finds  no  vessel  to  receive  it!  " 

Suddenly  she  arose,  and  said  with  a  burning  glance:  "  Fyodor 
Szilaghin  is  here." 

Christian  went  to  the  window.    "  It  is  raining,"  he  said. 

Thereupon  Eva  left  the  room,  singing  with  a  sob  in  her 
throat: 

"  Ou  sont  nos  amoureuses  ? 
Elles  sont  au  tombeau." 

That  evening  they  were  walking  down  the  beach.  "  I  met 
Mile.  Gamaleja,"  Eva  told  him.  "  Fyodor  Szilaghin  introduced 
her  to  me.  She  is  a  Tartar  and  his  mistress.  Her  beauty  is  like 
that  of  a  venomous  serpent,  and  as  strange  as  the  landscape  of 
a  wild  dream.  There  was  a  silent  challenge  in  her  attitude  to 


270          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

me,  and  a  silent  combat  arose  between  us.  We  talked  about 
the  diary  of  Marie  Bashkirtseff.  She  said  that  such  creatures 
should  be  strangled  at  birth.  But  I  see  from  your  expression, 
dear  man,  that  you  have  never  heard  of  Marie  Bashkirtseff. 
Well,  she  was  one  of  those  women  who  are  born  a  century 
before  their  time  and  wither  away  like  flowers  in  February." 

Christian  did  not  answer.  He  could  not  help  thinking  of  the 
faces  of  the  dead  fishermen  which  he  had  seen  the  night  before. 

"  Mile.  Gamaleja  was  in  London  recently  and  brought  me  a 
message  from  the  Grand  Duke,"  Eva  continued;  "  he'll  be  here 
in  another  week."  . 

Christian  was  still  silent.  Twelve  women  and  nineteen  chil- 
dren had  stood  about  the  dead  men.  They  had  all  been  scantily 
clad  and  absorbed  in  their  icy  grief. 

They  walked  up  the  beach  and  moved  farther  away  from  the 
tumult  of  the  waves.  Eva  said:  "  Why  don't  you  laugh?  Have 
you  forgotten  how?  "  The  question  was  like  a  cry. 

Christian  said  nothing.  "  To-morrow,"  she  remarked  swiftly, 
and  caught  her  veil  which  was  fluttering  in  the  breeze,  "  to- 
morrow there's  a  village  fair  at  Dudzeele.  Come  with  me  to 
Dudzeele.  Pulcinello  will  be  there.  We  will  laugh,  Christian, 
laugh!  " 

"  Last  night  there  was  a  storm  here,"  Christian  began  at 
last.  "  You  know  that,  for  we  were  long  among  the  dunes  up 
there.  Toward  .morning  I  walked  toward  the  beach  again,  be- 
cause I  couldn't  sleep.  Just  as  I  arrived  they  were  carrying 
away  the  bloated  corpses  of  the  fishermen.  Three  boats  went 
to  pieces  during  the  night;  it  was  quite  near  Molo,  but  there 
was  no  chance  for  help.  They  carried  seven  men  away  to  the 
morgue.  Some  people,  all  humble  folk,  went  along,  and  so  did 
I.  There  in  that  death  chamber  a  single  lantern  was  burning, 
and  when  they  put  down  the  drenched  bodies,  puddles  gathered 
on  the  floor.  Coats  had  been  spread  over  the  faces  of  the 
dead  men;  and  of  the  women  I  saw  but  a  single  one  shed  tears. 
She  was  as  ugly  as  a  rotten  tree-trunk;  but  when  she  wept  all 


THENAKEDFEET  271 

her  ugliness  was  gone.  Why  should  I  laugh,  Eva?  Why 
should  I  laugh?  I  must  think  of  the  fishermen  who  earn  their 
bread  day  after  day  out  on  the  sea.  Why  should  I  laugh?  And 
why  to-day?  " 

With  both  hands  Eva  pressed  her  veil  against  her  cheeks. 

In  that  tone  of  his,  which  was  never  rudely  emphatic,  Chris- 
tian continued:  "  Yesterday  at  the  bar  Wiguniewski  and  Botho 
Thiingen  showed  me  a  man  of  about  fifty,  a  former  star  at  the 
opera,  who  had  been  famous  and  made  money  in  his  day.  The 
day  before  he  had  broken  down  on  the  street — from  starva- 
tion. But  in  his  pocket,  they  found  twenty  francs.  When  he 
was  asked  why,  having  the  money,  he  had  not  satisfied  his 
hunger,  he  answered  that  the  money  was  an  advance  given  him 
toward  travelling  expenses.  He  had  been  engaged  to  sing  at  a 
cabaret  in  Havre.  It  had  taken  him  months  to  find  this  em- 
ployment. But  the  fare  to  Havre  is  thirty-five  francs,  and  for  six 
days  he  had  made  frantic  efforts  to  scrape  together  the  addi- 
tional fifteen  francs.  He  had  resisted  every  temptation  to 
touch  the  twenty  francs,  for  he  knew  that  if  he  took  but  a 
single  centime  his  life  would  be  finally  wrecked.  But  on  this 
day  the  date  of  the  beginning  of  his  engagement  had  lapsed, 
and  he  returned  the  twenty  francs  to  the  agent.  They  pointed 
this  man  out  to  me.  Leaning  on  his  arms,  he  sat  before  an 
empty  cup.  I  meant  to  sit  down  by  him,  but  he  went  away. 
Why  should  I  laugh,  Eva,  when  there  are  such  things  to  think 
about?  Don't  ask  me  to-day  of  all  days  that  I  should  laugh." 

Eva  said  nothing.  But  when  they  were  at  home,  she  flung 
herself  in  his  arms,  as  though  beside  herself,  and  said:  "  I 
must  kiss  you." 

And  she  kissed  him  and  bit  his  lip  so  hard  that  drops  of 
blood  appeared. 

"  Go  now,"  she  said  with  a  commanding  gesture,  "  go!  But 
don't  forget  that  to-morrow  we  shall  visit  the  fair  at  Dudzeele." 


272          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

xx 

They  drove  to  the  fair  and  made  their  way  through  the 
crowds  to  the  little  puppet-show.  The  benches  were  filled  with 
children;  the  grown  people  stood  in  a  semi-circle.  From  the 
harbour  floated  the  odours  of  machine  oil,  leather,  and  salt 
herring ;  in  the  air  resounded  the  discords  of  all  kinds  of  music 
and  of  the  criers'  voices. 

Christian  made  a  path  for  Eva;  half-surprised  and  half- 
morosely  the  people  yielded.  Eva  followed  the  play  with  cheer- 
ful intensity.  She  had  loved  such  scenes  from  childhood,  and 
now  they  brought  back  to  her  with  a  poignant  and  melancholy 
glow  the  years  of  her  obscure  wanderings. 

The  Pulcinello,  who  played  the  role  of  an  outwitted  cheat, 
was  forced  to  confess  that  no  cunning  could  withstand  the 
magic  of  the  good  fairies.  His  simplicity  was  too  obvious, 
and  his  downfall  too  well  deserved  to  awaken  compassion.  The 
rain  of  blows  which  were  his  final  portion  constituted  a  satis- 
fying victory  of  good  morals. 

Eva  applauded,  and  was  as  delighted  as  a  child.  "  Doesn't 
it  make  you  laugh,  Christian?  "  she  asked. 

And  Christian  laughed,  not  at  the  follies  of  the  rogue,  but 
because  Eva's  laughter  was  so  infectious. 

When  the  curtain  had  fallen  upon  the  tiny  stage,  they  fol- 
lowed the  stream  of  people  from  one  amusement  to  another.  A 
little  line  of  followers  was  formed  in  their  wake;  a  whisper- 
ing passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  and  each  pointed  out  Eva  to 
the  other.  Several  young  girls  seemed  especially  stubborn  in 
their  desire  to  follow  the  exquisitely  dressed  lady.  Eva  wore 
a  hat  adorned  with  small  roses  and  a  cloak  of  silk  as  blue 
as  the  sea  in  sunshine. 

One  of  the  maidens  had  gathered  a  bunch  of  lilacs,  and  in 
front  of  an  inn  she  gave  the  flowers  to  Eva  with  a  dainty 
courtesy.  Eva  thanked  her,  and  held  the  flowers  to  her  face. 
Five  or  six  of  the  girls  formed  a  circle  about  her,  and  took 


THENAKEDFEET  273 

each  others'  hands  and  danced  and  trilled  a  melody  of  wild 
delight. 

"  Now  I  am  caught,"  Eva  cried  merrily  to  Christian,  who 
had  remained  outside  of  the  circle  and  had  to  endure  the 
mocking  glances  of  the  girls. 

"  Yes,  now  you  are  caught,"  he  answered,  and  sought  to 
put  himself  in  tune  with  the  mood  of  the  merrymakers. 

On  the  steps  of  the  inn  stood  a  drunken  fellow,  who  watched 
the  scene  before  him  with  inexplicable  fury.  First  he  ex-  '/ 
hausted  himself  in  wild  abuse,  and  when  no  one  took  notice  of 
him,  he  seemed  overcome  by  a  sort  of  madness.  He  picked 
up  a  stone  from  the  ground,  and  hurled  it  at  the  group.  The 
girls  cried  out  and  dodged.  The  stone,  as  large  as  a  man's 
fist,  narrowly  missed  the  arm  of  the  girl  who  had  presented 
the  flowers,  and  in  its  fall  hit  both  of  Eva's  feet. 

She  grew  pale  and  compressed  her  lips.  Several  men  rushed 
up  to  the  drunken  brute,  who  staggered  into  the  inn.  Christian 
had  also  run  in  that  direction ;  but  he  turned  back,  thinking  it 
more  important  to  take  care  of  Eva.  The  girls  surrounded 
her,  sympathized  and  questioned. 

"  Can  you  walk?  "  he  asked.  She  said  yes  with  a  determined 
little  air,  but  limped  when  she  tried.  He  caught  her  up  in  his 
arms,  and  carried  her  to  the  car,  which  was  waiting  nearby. 
The  girls  followed  and  waved  farewell  with  their  kerchiefs. 
Hoarse  cries  sounded  from  the  inn. 

"  Pulcinello  grew  quite  mad,"  Eva  said.  She  smiled  and 
suppressed  all  signs  of  pain.  "  It  is  nothing,  darling,"  she 
whispered  after  a  while,  "  it  will  pass.  Don't  be  alarmed." 
They  drove  with  racing  speed. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  resting  in  an  armchair  in  the' villa. 
Christian  was  kneeling  before  her,  and  held  her  naked  feet 
in  his  hands. 

Susan  had  been  quite  terror  stricken,  when  she  had  whisked 
off  her  mistress's  shoes  and  stockings,  and  saw  to  her  horror 
the  red  bruises  made  by  the  stone.  She  had  stammered  out 


274          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

contradictory  counsels,  had  summoned  the  servants,  and  ex- 
citedly cried  out  for  a  physician.  At  last  Eva  had  asked  her 
to  be  quiet  and  to  leave  the  room. 

"  The  pain's  almost  gone,"  said  Eva,  and  nestled  her  little 
feet  luxuriously  into  Christian's  cool  hands.  A  maid  brought 
in  a  ewer  of  water  and  linen  cloths  for  cold  bandages. 

Christian  held  and  regarded  those  two  naked  feet,  exquisite 
organs  that  were  comparable  to  the  hands  of  a  great  painter  or 
to  the  wings  of  a  bird  that  soars  far  and  high.  And  while  he 
was  taking  delight  in  their  form,  the  clearly  denned  net  of 
muscles,  the  lyrical  loveliness  of  the  curves,  the  rosy  toes 
with  their  translucent  nails,  an  inner  monitor  arose  in  him 
and  seemed  to  say:  "  You  are  kneeling,  Christian,  you  are 
kneeling."  Silently,  and  not  without  a  certain  consternation, 
he  had  whispered  back:  "  Yes,  I  am  kneeling,  and  why  should 
I  not?  "  His  eyes  met  Eva's,  and  the  gleam  of  delight  in  hers 
heightened  his  inner  discomfort. 

Eva  said:  "  Your  hands  are  dear  physicians,  and  it  is 
wonderful  to  have  you  kneel  before  me,  sweet  friend." 

"  What  is  there  wonderful  about  it?  "  Christian  asked  hesi- 
tantly. 

The  twilight  had  fallen.  Through  the  gently  waving  curtains 
the  evening  star  shone  in. 

Eva  shook  her  head.  "  I  love  it.  That's  all."  Her  hair 
fell  open  and  rippled  down  her  shoulders.  "  I  love  it,"  she 
repeated,  and  laid  her  hands  on  his  head,  pressing  it  toward 
her  knees.  "  I  love  it." 

"  But  you  are  kneeling!  "  Christian  heard  that  voice  again. 
And  suddenly  he  saw  a  water  jug  with  a  broken  handle,  and 
a  crooked  window  rimmed  with  snow,  and  a  single  boot  crusted 
with  mud,  and  a  rope  dangling  from  a  beam,  and  an  oil  lamp 
with  a  sooty  chimney.  He  saw  these  lowly,  poverty-stricken 
things. 

"  Have  you  kneeled  to  many  as  though  you  adored  them?  " 
Eva  asked. 


THE  NAKED  FEET  275 

He  did  not  answer,  but  her  naked  feet  grew  heavy  in  his 
hands.  The  sensuous  perception  which  they  communicated  to 
him  through  their  warmth,  their  smoothness,  their  instinctive 
flexibility  vanished  suddenly,  and  gave  way  to  a  feeling  in 
which  fear  and  shame  and  mournfulness  were  blended.  These 
human  organs,  these  dancing  feet,  these  limbs  of  the  woman 
he  loved,  these  rarest  and  most  precious  things  on  earth  seemed 
suddenly  ugly  and  repulsive  to  him,  and  those  lowly  and 
poverty-stricken  objects — the  jug  with  the  broken  handle,  the 
crooked  window  with  its  rim  of  snow,  the  muddy  boot,  the 
dangling  rope,  the  sooty  lamp,  these  suddenly  seemed  to  him 
beautiful  and  worthy  of  reverence. 

"  Tell  me,  have  you  kneeled  to  many?  "  he  heard  Eva's  voice, 
with  its  almost  frightened  tenderness.  And  it  seemed  to  him 
that  Ivan  Becker  gave  answer  in  his  stead  and  said:  "  That  you 
kneeled  down  before  her — that  was  it,  and  that  alone.  All  else 
was  hateful  and  bitter;  but  that  you  kneeled  down  beside  her 
— ah,  that  was  it!  " 

He  breathed  deeply,  with  closed  eyes,  and  became  pale.  And 
he  relived,  more  closely  and  truly  than  ever,  that  hour  of 
fate.  He  felt  the  breath  of  Becker's  kiss  upon  his  forehead, 
and  understood  its  meaning.  He  understood  the  feverish 
transformations  of  an  evil  conscience  that  had  caused  him  to 
identify  himself  with  that  jug,  that  window,  that  boot  and 
rope  and  lamp,  only  to  flee,  only  to  gain  time.  And  he  under- 
stood now  that  despite  his  change  from  form  to  form,  he  had 
well  seen  and  heard  the  beggar,  the  woman,  Ivan  Michailovitch, 
the  sick,  half-naked  children,  but  that  his  whole  soul  had 
gathered  itself  together  in  the  effort  to  guard  himself  against 
them  for  but  a  little  while,  before  they  would  hurl  themselves 
upon  him  with  all  their  torment,  despair,  madness,  cruelty,  like 
wild  dogs  upon  a  piece  of  meat. 

His  respite  had  come  to  an  end.  With  an  expression  of 
haste  and  firmness  at  once  he  arose.  "  Let  me  go,  Eva,"  he 
said,  "  send  me  away.  It  is  better  that  you  send  me  away  than 


276          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

that  I  wrench  myself  loose,  nerve  by  nerve,  inch  by  inch. 
I  cannot  stay  with  you  nor  live  for  you."  Yet  in  this  very 
moment  his  love  for  her  gathered  within  him  like  a  storm  of 
flames,  and  he  would  have  torn  the  heart  from  his  breast  to 
have  unsaid  the  irrevocable  words. 

She  sprang  up  swiftly  as  an  arrow.  Then  she  stood  very  still, 
with  both  hands  in  her  hair. 

He  walked  to  the  window.  He  saw  the  whole  space  of 
heaven  before  him,  the  evening  star  and  the  unresting  sea. 
And  he  knew  that  it  was  all  illusion,  this  great  peace,  this 
glittering  star,  this  gently  phosphorescent  deep,  that  it  was  but 
a  garment  and  a  painted  curtain  by  which  the  soul  must  not 
let  itself  be  quieted.  Behind  it  were  terror  and  horror  and 
unfathomable  pain.  He  understood,  he  understood  at  last. 

He  understood  those  thousands  and  thousands  on  the  shore 
of  the  Thames  and  their  sombre  silence.  He  understood  the 
shipman's  daughter,  whose  violated  body  had  lain  on  coarse 
linen.  He  understood  Adda  Castillo  and  her  will  to  destruction. 
He  understood  Jean  Cardillac's  melancholy  seeking  for  help, 
and  his  sorrow  over  his  wife  and  child.  He  understood  that 
ancient  rake  who  cried  out  behind  the  gates  of  his  cloister: 
"  What  shall  I  do?  My  Lord  and  Saviour,  what  shall  I  do?  " 
He  understood  Dietrich,  the  deaf  and  dumb  lad  who  had 
drowned  himself,  and  Becker's  words  concerning  his  dripping 
coat,  and  Franz  Lothar's  horror  at  the  intertwined  bodies  of  the 
Hungarian  men  and  maids,  and  the  panting  hunger  of  Amadeus 
Voss  and  his  saying  concerning  the  silver  cord  and  the  pitcher 
broken  at  the  fountain.  He  understood  the  stony  grief  of 
the  fishermen's  wives,  and  the  opera  singer  who  had  twenty 
francs  in  his  pocket. 
He  understood.  He  understood. 

"  Christian!  "  Eva  cried  out  in  a  tone  as  though  she  were 
peering  into  the  darkness. 

"  The  night  has  come  upon  us,"  Christian  said,  and  trembled. 
"  Christian!  "  she  cried. 


THENAKEDFEET  277 

Suddenly  he  became  aware  of  Amadeus  Voss,  who  emerged 
out  there  from  among  the  dark  trees,  and  who  seemed  to  have 
awaited  him,  for  he  made  signs  to  him  at  the  window.  With  a 
hasty  good-night  Christian  left  the  room. 

Eva  looked  after  him  and  did  not  move. 

A  little  later,  forgetting  the  ache  in  her  feet,  she  went  into 
her  dressing-room,  opened  her  jewel  case,  took  Ignifer  out,  and 
regarded  the  stone  long  and  with  brooding  seriousness. 

Then  she  put  it  into  her  hair,  and  went  to  the  mirror — cool 
in  body,  pale  of  face,  quiet-eyed.  She  folded  her  arms,  lost  hi 
this  vision  of  herself. 

XXI 

Christian  and  Amadeus  walked  across  the  dam  toward  Duin- 
bergen. 

"  I  have  a  confession  to  make  to  you,  Wahnschaffe," 
Amadeus  Voss  began.  "  I've  been  gambling,  playing  roulette, 
over  at  Ostende." 

"  I've  heard  about  it,"  said  Christian  absent-mindedly. 
"  And,  of  course,  you  lost?  " 

"  The  devil  appeared  to  me,"  said  Amadeus,  in  hollow  tones. 

"  How  much  did  you  lose?  "  Christian  asked. 

"  Maybe  you  think  it  was  some  refined  modern  devil,  a 
hallucination,  or  a  product  of  the  poetic  fancy,"  Amadeus  con- 
tinued in  his  breathless  and  strangely  hostile  way.  "  Oh,  no, 
it  was  a  regular,  old-fashioned  devil  with  a  goat's  beard  and 
great  claws.  And  he  spoke  to  me:  'Take  of  their  super- 
fluity ;  clothe  your  sensitiveness  in  armour ;  let  them  not  intimi- 
date you,  nor  the  breath  of  their  insolently  beautiful  world 
drive  you  into  the  cloudy  closets  of  your  torment.'  And  with 
his  cunning  fingers  he  guided  the  little,  jumping  ball  for  me. 
The  light  of  the  lamps  seemed  to  cry,  the  rouge  fell  from  the 
cheeks  of  the  women,  the  spittle  of  poisonous  greed  ran  down 
the  beards  of  the  men.  I  won,  Christian  Wahnschaffe,  I  won! 
Ten  thousand,  twelve  thousand — I  hardly  remember  how  much. 


.278          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

The  thousand  franc  notes  looked  like  tatters  of  a  faded  flag. 
There  were  gleaming  halls,  stairs,  gardens,  white  tables,  cham- 
pagne coolers,  platters  of  oysters;  and  I  breathed  deep  and 
lived  and  was  like  a  lord.  Strange  men  congratulated  me, 
honoured  me  with  their  company,  ate  with  me — experienced 
people,  spick  and  span  and  respectable.  In  the  Hotel  de  la 
Plage  my  goat-footed  devil  finally  became  transformed  into  a 
worthy  symbol.  He  became  a  spider  that  had  a  huge  egg 
between  its  feet  and  sucked  insatiably." 

"  I  believe  you  ought  to  go  to  bed  and  have  a  long  sleep," 
said  Christian  drily.  "  How  much  did  you  lose  in  the  end?  " 

"  I  have  lost  sleep,"  Amadeus  admitted.  "  How  much  I 
lost?  About  fourteen  thousand.  Prince  Wiguniewski  advanced 
the  money;  he  thought  you'd  return  it.  He's  a  very  distin- 
guished person,  I  must  say.  Not  a  muscle  in  his  face  moves 
when  he's  courteous;  nothing  betrays  the  fact  that  he  scents 
the  proletarian  in  me." 

"  I'll  straighten  out  the  affair  with  him,"  said  Christian. 

"  It  is  not  enough,  Wahnschaffe,"  Amadeus  answered,  and 
his  voice  shook,  "  it  is  not  enough!  " 

"  Why  isn't  it  enough?  " 

"  Because  I  must  go  on  gambling  and  win  the  money  back. 
I  can't  remain  your  debtor." 

"  You  will  only  increase  your  indebtedness,  Amadeus.  But 
I  won't  prevent  you,  if  you'll  make  up  your  mind  to  name  a 
limit." 

Amadeus  laughed  hoarsely.  "  I  knew  you'd  be  magnanimous, 
Christian  Wahnschaffe.  Plunge  the  thorn  deeper  into  my 
wound.  Go  on!  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Amadeus,"  Christian  said  calmly. 
"  Ask  as  much  money  of  me  as  you  please.  To  be  sure, 
I'd  prefer  to  have  you  ask  it  for  another  purpose." 

"  How  magnanimous  again,  how  magnanimous!  "  Amadeus 
jeered.  "  But  suppose  that  naming  a  limit  is  just  what  I  won't 
do?  Suppose  I  want  to  strip  off  my  beggar's  shame  and  be- 


THENAKEDFEET  279 

come  frankly  a  robber?  Would  you  cast  me  off  in  that 
case?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do,"  Christian  answered. 
"  Perhaps  I  should  try  to  convince  you  that  you  are  not  acting 
justly." 

These  sober  and  simple  words  made  a  visible  impression 
on  Amadeus  Voss.  He  lowered  his  head  and,  after  a  while, 
he  said :  "  It  crushes  the  heart — that  interval  between  the 
hopping  of  the  little  ball  and  the  decision  of  the  judge.  The 
faded  bank  notes  rustle  up,  or  a  round  roll  of  gold  is  driven  up 
on  a  shovel.  I  invented  a  system.  I  divided  eight  letters 
into  groups  of  three  and  five.  Once  I  won  seventeen  hundred 
with  my  system,  another  time  three  thousand.  You  mustn't 
leave  me  in  the  lurch,  Wahnschaffe.  I  have  a  soul,  too.  Three 
and  five — that's  my  problem.  I'll  break  the  bank.  I'll  break 
the  bank  thrice — ten  times!  It  is  possible,  and  therefore  it  can 
be  done.  Can  three  and  five  withstand  a  cloudburst  of  gold? 
Would  Danae  repel  Perseus,  or  would  she  demand  that  he 
bring  her  first  the  head  of  the  Gorgon  Medusa?  " 

He  fell  silent  very  suddenly.  Christian  had  laid  an  arm 
about  his  shoulder,  and  this  familiar  caress  was  so  new  and 
unexpected  that  Amadeus  breathed  deep  as  a  child  in  its 
sleep.  "  Think  of  what  has  happened,  Amadeus,"  said  Chris- 
tian. "  Do  think  of  the  words  you  said  to  me:  '  It  is  possible 
that  you  need  me;  it  is  certain  that  without  you  I  am  lost.' 
Have  you  forgotten  so  soon,  dear  friend?  " 

Amadeus  started.  He  stood  still  and  grasped  Christian's 
hands:  "  For  the  love  of  God  ...  no  one  has  ever  spoken 
to  me  thus  ...  no  one!  " 

"  You  will  not  forget  it  then,  Amadeus?  "  Christian  said 
softly. 

A  weakness  overcame  Amadeus  Voss.  He  looked  about  him 
with  unquiet  eyes,  and  saw  a  low  post  to  which  the  ships' 
hawsers  were  made  fast.  He  sat  down  on  it,  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  Then  he  spoke  through  his  hands:  "Look 


28o         THE  WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

you,  dear  brother,  I  am  a  beaten  dog;  that  and  nothing  else. 
I  feel  as  though  I  had  leaned  too  long  against  a  cold,  hard, 
tinted  church  wall.  The  chill  has  remained  in  my  very  mar- 
row, and  I  struggle  because  I  don't  want  that  feeling  to  en- 
slave me.  Often  I  think  I  should  like  to  love  a  woman.  I 
cannot  live  without  love;  and  yet  I  live  on  without  it,  day  after 
day.  Always  without  love!  The  accursed  wall  is  so  cold.  I 
cannot  and  would  not  and  must  not  live  without  love.  I  am 
only  human,  and  I  must  know  woman's  love,  or  I  shall  freeze 
to  death  or  be  turned  to  stone  or  utterly  destroyed.  Yet  I  am  a 
Christian,  and  it  is  hard  for  a  Christian  who  bears  a  certain 
image  in  his  heart  to  give  himself  up  to  woman.  Help  me  to 
find  a  woman,  brother,  I  beseech  you." 

Christian  looked  out  upon  the  dark  sea.  "  How  can  I  help 
him?  "  he  thought,  and  felt  all  the  coldness  of  the  world  and 
the  confusion  of  mortal  things. 

While  he  stood  and  reflected  he  heard  from  afar  across  the 
dunes  a  cry,  first  dulled  by  the  distance,  then  nearer  and  clearer, 
and  then  farther  away  again.  It  was  such  a  cry  as  a  man  might 
utter,  at  his  utmost  need,  in  the  very  face  of  death.  Amadeus 
Voss  also  lifted  his  head  to  listen.  They  looked  at  each  other. 

"  We  must  go,"  said  Christian. 

They  hurried  in  the  direction  of  the  cry,  but  the  dunes  and 
the  beach  were  equally  desolate.  Thrice  again  they  heard  the 
cry  in  the  same  fashion,  approaching  and  receding,  but  their 
seeking  and  listening  and  hurrying  were  in  vain.  When  they 
were  about  to  return  Voss  said:  "  It  was  not  human.  It  came 
from  something  in  nature.  It  was  a  spirit  cry.  Such  things 
happen  oftener  than  men  believe.  It  summons  us  somewhere. 
One  of  us  two  has  received  a  summons." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Christian,  smiling.  His  sense  for  reality 
could  accept  such  an  interpretation  of  things  only  in  jest. 


THENAKEDFEET  281 

xxn 

On  his  way  to  Scotland  Crammon  stopped  over  for  a  day  in 
Frankfort.  He  informed  Christian's  mother  of  his  presence, 
and  she  begged  him  with  friendly  urgency  to  come  to  her. 

It  was  the  end  of  June.  They  had  tea  on  a  balcony  wreathed 
in  fresh  green.  Frau  Wahnschaffe  had  ordered  no  other  callers 
to  be  admitted.  For  a  while  the  conversation  trickled  along 
indifferently,  and  there  were  long  pauses.  She  wanted  Cram- 
mon to  give  her  some  news  of  Christian,  from  whom  she  had 
not  heard  since  he  had  left  Christian's  Rest.  But  first,  since 
Crammon  was  a  confidant  and  a  witness  in  the  suit,  it  was 
necessary  to  mention  Judith's  divorce  and  approaching  re- 
marriage to  Edgar  Lorm,  and  Frau  Wahnschaffe's  pride  rebelled 
at  touching  on  things  that  could,  nevertheless,  not  be  silently 
passed  over. 

She  sought  a  starting  point  in  vain.  Crammon,  outwardly 
smooth,  but  really  in  a  malicious  and  woodenly  stubborn 
mood,  recognized  her  difficulty,  but  would  do  nothing  to  help 
her. 

"  Why  do  you  stay  at  a  hotel,  Herr  von  Crammon?  "  she 
asked.  "  We  have  a  right  to  you  and  it  isn't  nice  of  you  to 
neglect  us." 

"  Don't  grudge  an  old  tramp  his  freedom,  dear  lady,"  Cram- 
mon answered,  "  and  anyhow  it  would  give  me  a  heartache  to 
have  to  leave  this  magic  castle  after  just  a  day." 

Frau  Wahnschaffe  nibbled  at  a  biscuit.  "  Anything  is  better 
than  a  hotel,"  she  said.  "  It's  always  a  bit  depressing,  and 
not  least  so  when  it's  most  luxurious.  And  it  isn't  really  nice. 
You  are  next  door  to  quite  unknown  people.  And  the  noises! 
But,  after  all,  what  distinction  in  life  is  there  left  to-day?  It's 
no  longer  in  fashion."  She  sighed.  Now  she  thought  she  had 
found  the  conversational  bridge  she  needed,  and  gave  herself  a 
jolt.  "  What  do  you  think  of  Judith?  "  she  said  in  a  dull, 
even  voice.  "  A  lamentable  mistake.  I  thought  her  marriage 


282          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

to  Imhof  far  from  appropriate  and  regretted  it.  But  this! 
I  can  hardly  look  my  acquaintances  in  the  face.  I  always 
feared  the  child's  inordinate  ambitions,  her  utter  lack  of 
restraint.  Now  she  throws  herself  at  the  head  of  an  actor. 
And  to  add  to  the  painful  complications,  there  is  her  bizarre 
renunciation  of  her  fortune.  Incomprehensible!  There's  some 
secret  behind  that,  Herr  von  Crammon.  Does  she  realize  clearly 
what  it  will  mean  to  live  on  a  more  or  less  limited  salary? 
It's  incomprehensible." 

"  You  need  have  no  anxiety,"  Crammon  assured  her. 
"  Edgar  Lorm  has  a  princely  income  and  is  a  great  artist." 

"Ah,  artists!  "  Frau  Wahnschaffe  interrupted  him,  with  a 
touch  of  impatience  and  a  contemptuous  gesture.  "  That  means 
little.  One  pays  them;  occasionally  one  pays  them  well.  But 
they  are  uncertain  people,  always  on  the  knife's  edge.  It's 
customary  now  to  make  a  great  deal  of  them,  even  in  our 
circles.  I've  never  understood  that.  Judith  will  have  to 
pay  terribly  for  her  folly,  and  Wahnschaffe  and  I  are  suf- 
fering a  bitter  disappointment."  She  sighed,  and  looked  at 
Crammon  surreptitiously  before  she  asked  with  apparent  in- 
difference, "  Did  you  hear  from  Christian  recently?  " 

Crammon  said  that  he  had  not. 

"We  have  been  without  news  of  him  for  two  months," 
Frau  Wahnschaffe  added.  Another  shy  glance  at  Crammon 
told  her  that  he  could  not  give  her  the  information  she  sought. 
He  was  not  sufficiently  master  of  himself  at  this  moment  to 
conceal  the  cause  of  his  long  and  secret  sorrow. 

A  peacock  proudly  passed  the  balcony,  spread  the  gleaming 
magnificence  of  his  feathers  in  the  sunlight,  and  uttered  a 
repulsive  cry. 

"  I've  been  told  that  he's  travelling  with  the  son  of  the  for- 
ester," said  Crammon,  and  pulled  up  his  eyebrows  so  high 
that  his  face  looked  like  the  gargoyle  of  a  mediaeval  devil. 
"Where  he  has  gone  to,  I  can  only  suppose;  but  I  have  no 
right  to  express  such  suppositions.  I  hope  our  paths  will  cross. 


THENAKEDFEET  283 

We  parted  in  perfect  friendship.  It  is  possible  that  we  shall 
find  each  other  again  on  the  same  basis." 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  forester's  son,"  Frau  Wahnschaffe 
murmured.  "  It's  strange,  after  all.  Is  it  a  very  recent  friend- 
ship? " 

"  Yes,  most  recent.  I  have  no  explanation  to  offer.  There's 
nothing  about  a  forester's  son  that  should  cause  one  any 
anxiety  in  itself;  but  one  should  like  to  know  the  character  of 
the  attraction." 

"  Sometimes  hideous  thoughts  come  to  me,"  said  Frau  Wahn- 
schaffe softly,  and  the  skin  about  her  nose  turned  grey. 
Abruptly  she  bent  forward,  and  in  her  usually  empty  eyes  there 
arose  so  sombre  and  frightened  a  glow,  that  Crammon  suddenly 
changed  his  entire  opinion  of  this  woman's  real  nature. 

"  Herr  von  Crammon,"  she  began,  in  a  hoarse  and  almost 
croaking  voice,  "  you  are  Christian's  friend ;  at  least,  you 
caused  me  to  believe  so.  Then  act  the  part  of  a  friend.  Go  to 
him;  I  expect  it  of  you;  don't  delay." 

"  I  shall  do  all  that  is  in  my  power,"  Crammon  answered. 
"  It  was  my  intention  to  look  him  up  in  any  event.  First  I'm 
going  to  Dumbarton  for  ten  days.  Then  I  shall  seek  him  out. 
I  shall  certainly  find  him,  and  I  don't  believe  that  there  is  any 
ground  for  real  anxiety.  I  still  believe  that  Christian  is  under 
the  protection  of  some  special  deity;  but  I  admit  that  it's  just 
as  well  to  see  from  time  to  time  whether  the  angel  in  question 
is  fulfilling  his  duties  properly." 

"  You  will  write  me  whatever  happens,"  Frau  Wahnschaffe 
said,  and  Crammon  gave  his  promise.  She  nodded  to  him  when 
he  took  his  leave.  The  glow  in  her  eyes  had  died  out,  and 
when  she  was  alone  she  sank  into  dull  brooding. 

Crammon  spent  the  evening  with  acquaintances  in  the  city. 
He  returned  to  the  hotel  late,  and  sat  awhile  in  the  lobby, 
immovable,  unapproachable,  nourishing  his  misanthropy  on 
the  aspect  of  the  passersby.  Then  he  examined  the  little  direc- 
tory on  which  the  names  of  the  guests  appeared.  "  What  are 


284          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

these  people  doing  here?  "  he  asked  himself.  "  How  important 
that  looks:  '  Max  Ostertag  (retired  banker)  and  wife.'  Why 
Ostertag  of  all  things?  Why  Max?  Why:  and  wife?  " 

Embittered  he  went  up  to  his  room.  Embittered  and  world- 
weary  he  wandered  up  and  down  the  long  corridor.  In  front 
of  each  door,  both  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  stood  two 
pairs  of  boots — one  pair  of  men's  and  one  pair  of  women's.  In 
this  pairing  of  the  boots  he  saw  a  boastful  and  shameless  ex- 
hibitionism of  marital  intimacies;  for  the  shape  and  make  of 
the  boots  assured  him  of  the  legal  and  officially  blameless  status 
of  their  owners.  He  seemed  to  see  in  those  boots  a  morose 
evidence  of  overlong,  stale  unions,  a  vulgar  breadth  of  tread 
caused  by  the  weight  of  money,  a  commonness  of  mind,  a  self- 
righteous  Pharisaism. 

He  couldn't  resist  the  foolish  temptation  of  creating  con- 
fusion among  the  boots  of  these  Philistines.  He  looked  about 
carefully,  took  a  pair  of  men's  boots,  and  joined  them  to  a 
pair  of  women's  boots  at  another  door.  And  he  continued 
until  the  original  companionship  of  the  boots  was  utterly  de- 
stroyed. Then  he  went  to  bed  with  a  pleasant  sensation,  com- 
parable to  that  of  a  writer  of  farces  who  has  succeeded  in 
creating  an  improbable  and  scarcely  extricable  confusion  amid 
the  puppets  of  his  plot. 

In  the  morning  he  was  awakened  by  the  noise  of  violent  and 
angry  disputes  in  the  hall.  He  raised  his  head,  listened  with 
satisfaction,  smiled  slothfully,  stretched  himself,  yawned,  and 
enjoyed  the  quarrelling  voices  as  devoutly  as  though  they  were 
music. 

xxm 

When  on  the  day  after  his  nocturnal  wandering  Christian 
came  to  see  Eva,  he  was  astonished  to  find  her  surrounded  by 
a  crowd  of  Russians,  Englishmen,  Frenchmen,  and  Belgians. 
Until  this  day  she  had  withdrawn  herself  from  society  entirely, 
or  else  had  received  only  at  hours  previously  agreed  upon  be- 


THENAKEDFEET  285 

tween  Christian  and  herself.  This  unexpected  change  suddenly 
made  a  mere  guest  of  him,  and  pushed  him  from  the  centre 
to  the  circumference  of  the  circle. 

The  conversation  turned  on  the  arrival  of  Count  Maidanoff, 
and  there  was  a  general  exchange  of  speculation,  both  in  regard 
to  the  duration  and  the  purpose  of  his  visit.  A  political  set- 
ting of  the  stage  had  been  feigned  with  conscious  hypocrisy. 
There  was  to  be  a  visit  to  the  king,  and  ministerial  confer- 
ences. He  had  first  stopped  at  the  Hotel  Lettoral  in  Knocke, 
but  had  soon  moved  to  the  large  and  magnificent  Villa  Her- 
zynia,  which  his  favourite  and  friend,  Prince  Szilaghin,  had 
rented. 

Szilaghin  appeared  soon  after  Christian.  Wiguniewski,  ob- 
viously under  orders,  introduced  the  two  men. 

"  I'm  going  to  have  a  few  friends  with  me  to-morrow  night," 
Szilaghin  said,  with  the  peculiar  courtesy  of  a  great  comedian. 
"  I  trust  you  will  do  me  the  honour  of  joining  us."  Coldly  he 
examined  Christian,  whose  nerves  grew  painfully  taut  under 
that  glance.  He  bowed  and  determined  not  to  go. 

Eva  was  in  the  room  that  gave  on  the  balcony,  and  was 
posing  for  the  sculptress,  Beatrix  Vanleer.  The  latter  sat  with 
a  block  of  paper  and  made  sketches.  Meantime  Eva  chatted 
with  several  gentlemen.  She  held  out  her  hand  for  Christian 
to  kiss,  and  ignored  his  questioning  gaze. 

In  her  cinnamon  dress,  with  her  hair  high  on  her  head  and  a 
diadem  of  ivory,  she  seemed  extraordinarily  strange  to  him. 
Her  face  had  the  appearance  of  delicate  enamel.  About  her 
chin  there  was  a  hostile  air.  Gentle  vibrations  about  the 
muscles  at  her  temples  seemed  to  portend  an  inner  storm. 
But  these  perceptions  were  fleeting.  What  Christian  felt  about 
her  was  primarily  a  paralyzing  coldness. 

When  Mile.  Vanleer  had  finished  for  the  day,  Eva  walked 
up  and  down  talking  to  a  certain  young  Princess  Helfersdorff. 
She  led  her  to  the  balcony,  which  was  bathed  in  the  sunlight, 
and  then  into  her  boudoir,  where  she  liked  to  be  when  she  read 


286          THE  WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

or  rested  from  her  exercises.  Christian  followed  the  two 
women,  and  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  that  he  was  being 
humiliated.  But  it  did  not  depress  him  as  profoundly  as,  an 
hour  ago,  the  mere  thought  of  such  an  experience  would  have 
done. 

The  Marquis  Tavera  joined  him.  Standing  on  the  threshold 
of  the  boudoir,  they  talked  of  indifferent  things.  Christian 
heard  Eva  tell  the  young  princess  that  she  expected  to  go  to 
Hamburg  within  a  week.  The  North  German  Lloyd  was 
planning  a  great  festivity  on  the  occasion  of  the  launching  of 
a  magnificent  ship,  and  she  had  been  asked  to  dance.  "  I'm 
really  delighted  at  the  prospect,"  she  added  cheerfully.  "  I'm 
little  more  than  a  name  to  most  Germans  yet.  Now  they'll  be 
able  to  see  me  and  tell  me  what  I  amount  to  and  where  I 
belong." 

The  young  lady  looked  at  the  dancer  with  enthusiasm. 
Christian  thought:  "  I  must  speak  to  her  at  once."  In  every 
word  of  Eva's  he  felt  an  arrow  of  hostility  or  scorn  aimed  at 
him.  He  left  Tavera,  and  entered  the  room.  The  decisiveness 
of  his  movement  forced  Eva  to  look  at  him.  She  smiled  in 
surprise.  A  scarcely  perceptible  shrug  marked  her  astonish- 
ment and  censure. 

Tavera  had  turned  to  the  princess,  and  when  these  two 
moved  toward  the  door,  Eva  seemed  inclined  to  follow  them. 
A  gesture  of  Christian,  which  she  saw  on  glancing  back,  de- 
termined her  to  wait.  Christian  closed  the  door,  and  Eva's 
expression  of  amazement  became  intense.  But  he  felt  that  this 
was  but  acting.  He  slipped  into  a  sudden  embarrassment,  and 
could  find  no  words. 

Eva  walked  up  and  down,  touching  some  object  here  and 
there.  "  Well?  "  she  asked,  and  looked  at  him  coldly. 

"  This  Szilaghin  is  an  insufferable  creature,"  Christian  mur- 
mured, with  lowered  eyes.  "  I  remember  I  once  saw  a  mani- 
coloured  marine  animal  in  an  aquarium.  It  was  very  beauti- 
ful and  also  extremely  horrible.  I  couldn't  get  rid  of  its  image. 


THENAKEDFEET  287 

I  wanted  constantly  to  go  back  to  it,  and  yet  felt  constantly  an 
ugly  horror  of  it." 

"  0  la,  la!  "  said  Eva.  Nothing  else.  And  in  this  soft  ex- 
clamation there  was  contempt,  impatience,  and  curiosity.  Then 
she  stood  before  him.  "  I  am  not  fond  of  being  caged,"  she 
said  in  a  hard  voice.  "  I  am  not  fond  of  being  caught  and 
isolated  from  my  guests  to  be  told  trivial  things.  You  must 
forgive  me,  but  it  doesn't  interest  me  what  impression  Prince 
Szilaghin  makes  on  you.  Or,  to  be  quite  truthful,  it  interests 
me  no  longer." 

Christian  looked  at  her  dumbly.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
was  being  chastised,  beaten,  and  he  turned  very  pale.  The 
feeling  of  humiliation  grew  like  a  fever.  "  He  invited  me  to 
his  house  to-morrow,"  he  stammered,  "  and  I  merely  wanted 
to  tell  you  that  I'm  not  going." 

"  You  must  go,"  Eva  replied  swiftly.  "  I  beg  of  you  to  go." 
Avoiding  the  astonished  question  in  his  eyes,  she  added: 
"  Maidanoff  will  be  there.  I  wish  you  to  see  him." 

"  For  what  reason?  " 

"  You  are  to  know  what  I  grasp  at,  what  I  do,  whither  I 
go.  Can  you  read  faces?  I  dare  say  not.  Nevertheless, 
come!  " 

"  What  have  you  determined  on?  "  he  asked,  awkwardly  and 
shyly. 

She  gave  her  body  a  little,  impatient  shake.  "  Nothing 
that  was  not  settled  long  ago,"  she  answered,  with  a  glassy 
coolness  in  her  voice.  "  Did  you  think  that  I  would  drag  on 
our  lovely,  wild  May  into  a  melancholy  November?  You 
might  have  spared  us  both  your  frankness  of  last  night.  The 
dream  was  over  no  moment  sooner  for  you  than  for  me.  You 
should  have  known  that.  And  if  you  did  not  know  it,  you 
should  have  feigned  that  knowledge.  A  gentleman  of  faultless 
taste  does  not  throw  down  his  cards  while  his  partner  is  pre- 
paring to  make  a  last  bet.  You  do  not  deserve  the  honourable 
farewell  that  I  gave  you.  I  should  have  led  you  about, 


288          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

chained,  like  those  stupid  little  beasts  who  are  always  whining 
for  permission  to  ruin  themselves  for  my  sake.  They  call  this 
thing  their  passion.  It  is  a  fire  like  any  other;  but  I  would 
not  use  it  to  kindle  a  lamp,  if  I  needed  light  to  unlace  my 
shoes." 

She  had  crossed  her  arms  and  laughed  softly,  and  moved 
toward  the  door. 

"  You  have  misunderstood  me,"  said  Christian  overwhelmed. 
"  You  misunderstand  me  wholly."  He  raised  his  hands  and 
barred  her  way.  "  Do  you  not  understand?  If  I  had  words. 
.  .  .  But  I  love  you  so!  I  cannot  imagine  life  without  you. 
And  yet  (how  shall  I  put  it  into  words?)  I  feel  like  a  man  who 
owes  colossal  sums  and  is  constantly  dunned  and  tormented, 
and  does  not  know  wherewith  to  pay  nor  whom.  Do  try  to 
understand!  I  was  hasty,  foolish.  But  I  thought  that  you 
might  help  me." 

It  was  the  cry  of  a  soul  in  need.  But  Eva  did  not  or  would 
not  heed  it.  She  had  built  of  her  love  a  soaring  arch.  She 
thought  it  had  fallen,  and  no  abyss  seemed  deep  enough  for 
its  ruins  to  be  hurled.  She  had  neither  ears  now  nor  eyes. 
She  had  decided  her  fate  even  now;  and  though  it  frightened 
her,  to  recede  was  contrary  to  her  pride  and  her  very  blood.  A 
sovereign  gesture  silenced  Christian.  "Enough!  "  she  said. 
"  Of  all  the  ugly  things  between  two  people,  nothing  is  uglier 
than  an  explanation  that  involves  the  emotions.  I  have  no 
understanding  for  hypochondria,  and  epilogues  bore  me.  As 
for  your  creditors,  see  that  you  seek  them  out  and  pay  them. 
It  is  troublesome  to  keep  house  with  unpaid  bills." 

She  went  from  the  room. 

Christian  stood  very  still.  Slowly  he  lowered  his  head,  and 
hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

xxrv 

Next  day  Christian  received  a  telegram  from  Crammon,  in 
which  the  latter  announced  his  arrival  for  the  middle  of  the 


THE    NAKED   FEET  289 

following  week.  He  gazed  meditatively  at  the  slip  of  paper, 
and  had  to  reconstruct  an  image  of  Crammon  from  memory, 
feature  by  feature.  But  it  escaped  him  again  at  once. 

At  Fyodor  Szilaghin's  he  found  about  twenty  people.  There 
were  eight  or  ten  Russians,  including  Wiguniewski.  Then  there 
were  the  brothers  Maelbeek,  young  Belgian  aristocrats,  a 
French  naval  captain,  Tavera,  Bradshaw,  the  Princess  Helfers- 
dorff  and  her  mother  (a  very  common  looking  person),  Beatrix 
Vanleer,  and  Sinaide  Gamaleja. 

Christian  arrived  a  little  later  than  the  others,  and  Szilaghin 
was  half-sitting,  half-lying  on  a  chaise-longue.  A  young  wolf 
crouched  on  his  knees,  and  on  the  arm  of  the  chaise-longue 
sat  a  green  parrot.  He  smiled  and  excused  himself  for  not 
arising,  pointing  to  the  animals  as  though  they  held  him  fast. 

From  Wiguniewski 's  anecdotes  Christian  knew  of  Szilaghin's 
fondness  for  such  trickery.  At  Oxford  he  had  once  gone  boat- 
ing alone  and  at  night  with  an  eagle  chained  to  his  skiff;  at 
Rome  he  had  once  rented  a  palace,  and  given  a  ball  to  the 
dregs  of  the  city's  life — beggars,  cripples,  prostitutes,  and 
pimps.  The  boastfulness  of  such  things  was  obvious.  But  as 
Christian  stood  there  and  saw  him  with  those  animals,  the 
impression  he  received  was  not  only  one  of  frantic  high  spirits, 
but  also  one  of  despair.  A  retroactive  oppression  crept  over 
him. 

The  lighting  of  the  rooms  was  strikingly  dim  and  scattered. 
A  thunderstorm  was  approaching,  and  the  windows  were  all 
open  on  account  of  the  sultry  heat;  and  every  flicker  of  light- 
ning flashed  an  unexpected  brightness  into  the  rooms. 

At  the  invitation  of  several  guests,  Sinaide  Gamaleja  sat 
down  with  a  lute  under  a  cluster  of  long-stemmed  roses,  and 
began  to  sing  a  Russian  song.  Over  her  shoulders  lay  a  gold- 
embroidered  shawl,  and  her  hair  was  held  by  a  band  of  dia- 
monds. Her  figure  was  fragile.  She  had  broad  cheekbones,  a 
wide  mouth,  and  dully-glowing,  heavy-lidded  eyes. 

The  greyish-yellow  wolf  on  Szilaghin's  knees  raised  his  head, 


290          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

and  blinked  sleepily  at  the  singer.  The  melody  had  awakened 
in  him  a  dream  of  his  native  steppes.  But  the  parrot  stirred 
too,  and,  croaking  an  unintelligible  word,  he  preened  himself 
and  displayed  the  gorgeous  plumage  of  his  throat.  Szilaghin 
raised  a  finger  and  bade  the  bird  be  silent;  obediently  it  hid 
its  beak  in  the  feathers  which  a  breeze  lifted.  A  voluble  old 
Russian  kept  talking  to  Szilaghin.  The  latter  overheard  him 
contemptuously,  and  joined  in  the  singing  of  the  song's  second 
stanza. 

His  voice  was  melodious — a  deep,  dark  baritone.  But  to 
Christian  there  seemed  something  corrupt  in  its  music,  as  cor- 
rupt as  the  half-shut,  angry,  melancholy  eyes  with  their  con- 
tempt of  mankind;  as  corrupt  as  the  well-chiselled,  waxen  face, 
that  could  pass  for  eighteen,  yet  harboured  all  the  experiences 
of  an  evil  old  age;  as  corrupt  as  the  long,  pale,  sinuous,  nerve- 
less hand  or  the  sweetish,  weary,  clever  smile. 

The  Maalbeeks,  Wiguniewski,  the  Captain,  and  Tavera  had 
settled  down  to  a  game  of  baccarat  in  the  adjoining  room.  In 
the  pauses  of  the  singing,  one  could  hear  the  click  of  gold  and 
the  tap  of  the  cards  on  the  table.  These  strange  noises  excited 
the  parrot;  he  forgot  the  command  of  his  master,  and  uttered 
a  discordant  cry.  Sinaide  Gamaleja  threw  the  animal  a  furious 
glance,  and  for  a  moment  her  hand  twitched  on  the  strings. 

At  that  moment  Szilaghin  arose,  grasped  the  bird's  feet  with 
one  hand,  its  head  with  the  other,  and  twisted  the  head  of  the 
screaming,  agonizedly  fluttering  animal  around  and  around  as 
on  an  axis.  Then  he  tossed  the  green,  dead  thing  aside  with  an 
expression  of  disgust,  and  calmly  intoned  the  third  stanza 
of  the  song. 

A  flame  of  satisfaction  appeared  in  Sinaide  Gamaleja's  eyes. 
The  old  Russian,  who  had  visited  his  endless  babble  on  the 
sculptress,  fell  suddenly  silent.  The  wolf  yawned,  and,  as 
though  to  confirm  the  fact  of  his  own  obedience,  snuggled  his 
chin  against  his  master's  arm. 

Christian  looked  down  at  the  dead  bird,  whose  tattered 


THE    NAKED   FEET  291 

plumage  gleamed  in  the  lightning  that  flashed  across  the  floor 
like  a  fantastic  emerald.  Suddenly  the  dead  animal  became  to 
him  the  seal  and  symbol  of  all  the  corruption,  vanity,  unve- 
racity,  bedizenment,  and  danger  of  all  he  saw  and  felt.  He 
looked  at  Szilaghin,  at  Sinaide,  at  the  chattering  dotard,  at 
the  gamesters,  and  turned  away.  There  was  an  acridness  in  his 
throat  and  a  burning  in  his  eyes.  He  approached  the  window. 
The  foliage  rustled  out  there,  and  the  thunder  pealed.  And  the 
question  arose  within  him:  Whence  does  all  this  evil  come? 
Whence  does  it  come,  and  why  is  it  so  hard  to  separate  oneself 
from  it? 

The  night,  the  rain,  and  the  storm  drove  him  forth,  lured  him 
out.  He  ached  to  lose  himself  in  the  darkness,  far  from  men. 
He  was  afraid  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  would  shed 
tears.  Never,  in  all  his  conscious  memory,  had  he  wept.  His 
whole  body  was  shaken  by  an  emotional  tumult  such  as  he  had 
never  known,  and  he  repressed  it  only  by  using  his  utmost 
energy.  Just  as  he  was  about  to  touch  the  knob  of  the  door,  a 
lackey  opened  it,  and  Maidanoff  and  Eva  appeared  on  the 
threshold.  Christian  stood  quite  still;  but  every  vestige  of 
colour  left  his  face. 

A  vivid  stir  went  through  the  company.  Szilaghin  jumped 
up  to  welcome  these  two.  Maidanoff's  weather-beaten  lean- 
ness contrasted  in  a  striking  and  sombre  fashion  with  Eva's 
flower-like  symmetry  of  form.  She  wore  a  garment  diaphanous 
as  breathing;  it  was  held  to  her  shoulders  by  ropes  of  pearls. 
Her  skin  had  a,  faintly  golden  glow;  her  throat  and  arms 
and  bosom  pulsed  with  life. 

The  vision  absorbed  Christian.  He  stared  at  her.  His  name 
was  spoken,  with  other  names  that  were  new  to  Maidanoff; 
and  still  he  stared  at  that  unfathomable  and  fatal  image. 
His  heart,  in  its  sudden,  monstrous  loneliness,  turned  to  ice; 
he  felt  both  wild  and  stricken  with  dumbness;  the  tension  of 
his  soul  became  unendurable.  Curious  glances  sought  him  out. 
He  failed  to  move  at  the  proper  moment,  and  the  moan  that 


292          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

arose  from  the  confusion  of  his  utter  grief  had  made  a  thing 
of  mockery  and  scorn  of  him,  before  he  fled  past  barren  walls 
and  stupid  lackeys  into  the  open. 

The  rain  came  down  in  torrents.  He  did  not  call  his  car, 
but  walked  along  the  road. 

xxv 

After  losing  twenty-eight  thousand  francs,  the  amount  that 
he  had  gradually  borrowed  from  Mr.  Bradshaw  and  Prince 
VViguniewski,  Amadeus  Voss  got  up  from  the  gaming  table,  and 
staggered  into  the  open.  He  had  a  dim  notion  that  he  would 
seek  out  Christian,  to  tell  him  that  he  would  be  able  to  settle 
the  debt  within  twenty-four  hours. 

He  went  to  the  telegraph  office,  and  sent  a  message  to 
Christian.  Then  he  stood  beneath  a  chestnut  tree  in  bloom, 
and  muttered:  "  Brother,  brother." 

A  woman  came  along  the  road,  and  he  joined  her.  But  sud- 
denly he  burst  out  into  wild  laughter,  turned  down  a  side  street, 
and  went  on  alone. 

He  walked  and  walked  for  six  endless  hours.  At  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning  he  was  in  Heyst.  His  brain  seemed  to  have 
become  an  insensitive  lump,  incapable  of  light  or  reason. 

Masses  of  dark  grey  clouds  that  floated  in  the  sky  assumed 
to  him  the  aspect  of  women's  bodies.  The  clouds,  which  the 
hot  night  drove  toward  the  north,  were  like  cloaks  over  the 
forms  he  desired.  He  felt  an  obscure  yearning  for  all  the  love 
in  all  the  lands  in  which  he  had  no  part. 

At  the  garden-gate  of  the  villa  he  stopped  and  stared  up  at 
Christian's  windows.  They  were  open  and  showed  light. 
"Brother,"  he  muttered  again,  "brother!"  Christian  ap- 
peared at  the  window.  The  sight  of  him  filled  Voss  with  a 
sudden,  overwhelming  hatred.  "Take  care,  Wahnschaffe!  " 
he  cried. 

Christian  left  the  window,  and  soon  appeared  at  the  gate. 
Amadeus  awaited  him  with  clenched  fists.  But  when  Christian 


THENAKEDFEET  293 

approached,  he  turned  and  fled  down  the  street,  and 
Christian  looked  after  him.  Then  his  steps  became  slower, 
and  Christian  followed. 

After  Voss  had  wandered  about  aimlessly  for  a  time,  he  felt 
a  torturing  thirst.  He  happened  to  pass  a  sailors'  tavern,  con- 
sidered for  a  moment,  and  entered.  He  ordered  grog,  but  did 
not  touch  the  glass.  Five  or  six  men  sat  at  various  tables. 
Three  slept;  the  eyes  of  the  others  had  a  drunken  stare.  The 
tavern  keeper,  an  obese  fellow  with  a  criminal  face,  sat  behind 
the  bar,  and  watched  this  elegantly  attired  guest,  whose  face 
was  so  pale  and  so  disturbed.  He  concluded  that  the  late  comer 
was  in  a  mood  of  despair,  and  beckoned  to  the  bar-maid,  a 
dark-haired,  dirty  Walloon,  to  sit  down  by  him. 

Impudently  she  did  so,  and  started  to  talk.  He  did  not 
understand  her.  She  gave  a  coarse  laugh,  and  put  a  hand  on 
his  knee.  Behind  her  thin  and  ragged  bodice  her  breasts  stirred 
like  animals.  She  had  a  primitive,  animal  odour.  He  turned 
dizzy.  Then  a  lust  to  murder  stirred  in  him. 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  all  the  money  he  had  left.  There 
were  seventy  francs — three  gold  and  five  silver  coins.  "  The 
magic  numbers,"  he  muttered,  and  grew  a  shade  paler,  "  three 
and  five!  " 

The  Walloon  woman  turned  greedy  and  caressing  eyes  upon 
the  coins.  The  tavern  keeper,  scenting  business,  dragged  his 
bulk  forward. 

"  Strip  off  your  clothes,  and  it's  yours!  "  said  Amadeus 
Voss. 

She  looked  at  him  stupidly.  The  tavern  keeper  understood 
German  and  translated  the  words.  She  laughed  shrilly,  and 
pointed  toward  the  door.  Amadeus  shook  his  head.  "No; 
now;  here!  "  He  was  stubborn.  The  girl  turned  to  her 
employer,  and  the  two  consulted  in  whispers.  Her  gestures 
made  it  evident  that  she  cared  little  for  the  presence  of  the 
drunken  or  snoring  men.  She  disappeared  behind  a  brown 
partition  that  had  once  been  yellow.  The  tavern  keeper 


294          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

gathered  the  money  on  the  table,  waddled  from  window  to 
window  to  see  that  the  red  hangings  covered  all  the  panes, 
and  then  stood  guard  at  the  door. 

Amadeus  sat  there  as  though  steeped  in  seething  water.  A 
few  minutes  passed.  Then  the  Walloon  woman  appeared 
from  behind  the  partition.  The  sailors  looked  up.  One  arose 
and  gesticulated;  one  uttered  a  wild  laugh.  The  woman  stood 
with  lowered  eyes — stubborn,  careless,  rubbing  one  foot  with 
the  other.  She  was  rather  fat,  quite  without  charm,  and  the 
lines  of  her  body  had  been  destroyed. 

But  to  Amadeus  Voss  she  was  like  a  supernatural  vision,  and 
he  gazed  upon  her  as  though  his  whole  soul  was  in  that  gaze. 
His  arms  reached  out,  and  his  fingers  became  claws,  and  his 
lips  twitched.  The  fishermen  and  the  tavern  keeper  no  longer 
saw  the  woman.  They  saw  him.  They  felt  fear.  So  un- 
wonted was  the  sight  that  they  did  not  observe  the  opening  of 
the  door.  The  tavern  keeper's  whistled  warning  came  too  late. 
Christian,  who  entered,  still  saw  the  naked  woman  as  she  hur- 
ried toward  the  partition. 

He  approached  Amadeus.  But  the  latter  took  no  notice  of 
him.  He  stared  spell-bound  at  the  spot  where  the  woman  had 
stood. 

Christian  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Amadeus  roused 
himself  from  his  absorption,  turned  slow,  questioning  eyes  upon 
his  friend,  and  strangely  uttered  with  his  quivering  lips  these 
words:  "  Est  Deus  in  nobis;  agitante  calescimus  ijlo." 

Then  he  broke  down,  his  forehead  dropped  on  the  table,  and 
a  shudder  shook  his  body. 

The  tavern  keeper  muttered  morosely. 

"  Come,  Amadeus,"  said  Christian  very  quietly. 

The  drunken  fishermen  and  sailors  stared. 

Amadeus  arose,  and  groped  like  a  blind  man  for  Christian's 
hand. 

"  Come,  Amadeus,"  Christian  repeated,  and  his  voice  seemed 
to  make  a  deep  impression  on  Voss,  for  he  followed  him  without 


THENAKEDFEET  295 

hesitation.  The  tavern  keeper  and  the  sailors  accompanied 
them  into  the  street. 

The  tavern  keeper  said  to  the  men  with  him:  "  Those  are 
what  you  call  gentlemen.  Look  how  they  behave!  It  shows 
you  why  the  world  is  ruled  so  ill." 

"  The  dawn  is  breaking,"  said  one  of  the  fishermen,  and 
pointed  to  a  purple  streak  in  the  eastern  heaven. 

Christian  and  Amadeus  likewise  stared  at  the  purple  seam 
of  the  east,  and  Amadeus  spoke  again:  "Est  Deus  in  nobis; 
agitante  calescimus  illo." 


KAREN  ENGELSCHALL 


ON  the  appointed  hour  of  the  appointed  day  Crammon 
arrived.  He  had  prepared  himself  to  stay  and  to  be  festive; 
but  he  was  disappointed.  Eva  and  her  train  were  on  the 
point  of  leaving.  Maidanoff  had  proceeded  to  Paris,  whither 
Eva  was  to  follow  him. 

Crammon  had  been  informed  of  this  new  friendship  of  his 
idol.  All  other  news  came  to  him  too,  and  so  he  was  aware  that 
a  quarrel  had  arisen  between  Christian  and  Eva.  He  was  the 
more  astonished  to  see  Christian  determined  to  follow  Eva  to 
Hamburg. 

They  had  exchanged  but  a  few  words,  when  the  transforma- 
tion in  Christian  struck  him.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder,  and  asked  sympathetically:  "  Have  you  nothing 
to  confide?  " 

He  spent  the  evening  with  Wiguniewski.  "  It  isn't  pos- 
sible/' he  said;  "  you're  mistaken.  Or  else  the  world  is  topsy- 
turvy and  I  can  no  longer  tell  a  man  from  a  woman." 

"  I  had  no  special  liking  for  Wahnschaffe  from  the  start," 
Wiguniewski  confessed.  "  He's  too  impenetrable,  mysterious, 
spoiled,  cold,  and,  if  you  will,  too  German.  Nevertheless  I 
knew  from  the  first  that  he  was  the  very  man  for  Eva  Sorel. 
You  couldn't  see  the  two  together  without  a  sense  of  delight 
— the  sort  of  delight  that  a  beautiful  composition  gives  you, 
or  anything  that  is  spiritually  fitting  and  harmonious." 

Crammon  nodded.  "  He  has  a  strange  power  over  women," 
he  said.  "  I've  just  had  another  instance  which  is  the  more  re- 
markable as  it  developed  from  a  mere  sight  of  his  picture.  At 
the  Ashburnhams'  in  Yorkshire,  where  I've  been  staying,  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  Viennese  girl,  a  banker's  daughter, 

296 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  297 

rather  ugly,  to  be  frank,  but  with  a  peculiar  little  sting  and 
charm  and  wit  of  her  own.  Not  a  bad  figure,  though  rather — 
shall  we  say  scanty?  Yes.  Her  name  is  Johanna  Schontag, 
though  that  matters  little.  I  called  her  nothing  but  Rumpel- 
stilzkin.  That  fitted  her  like  a  glove.  God  knows  how  she  got 
there.  Her  sister,  a  russet-haired  person  who  looks  as  though 
she'd  jumped  out  of  a  Rubens,  is  married  to  an  attache  of  some 
minor  legation,  Roumanian  or  Bulgarian  or  something  like 
that.  The  big  capitalists  fit  their  daughters  into  society  that 
way.  Well,  anyhow,  this  Rumpelstiezkin  and  I  agreed  to  amuse 
each  other  in  the  murky  boredom  of  Lord  and  Lady  Ashburn- 
ham's  house.  So  one  day  I  showed  the  girl  a  miniature  of 
Christian  which  Gaston  Villiers  painted  for  me  in  Paris.  She 
looked  at  the  picture  and  her  merry  face  grew  grave,  ab- 
sorbed, and  she  handed  it  back  to  me  silently.  A  couple  of  days 
later  she  asked  to  see  it  again,  and  it  had  the  same  effect  on 
her.  She  asked  me  about  the  man,  and  I,  of  course,  became 
very  eloquent,  and  happened  to  remark,  too,  that  I  expected  to 
meet  Christian  here.  She  insisted  at  once  that  she  must  meet 
him,  and  that  I  must  plan  to  have  her  do  so.  Remember  she's 
rather  unapproachable  as  a  rule,  fastidious,  turning  up  her 
nose — her  worst  feature  by  the  way — at  things  that  please 
most  people.  The  request  was  unexpected  and  rather  a  nui- 
sance. One  mustn't,  as  you  know,  bring  the  wrong  people 
together  and  land  one's  self  in  difficulties.  So  I  said  at  once: 
'  The  Almighty  forbid !  '  I  admonished  her  gently  to  change  her 
mind,  and  painted  the  danger  in  its  darkest  hues.  She  laughed 
at  me,  and  asked  me  whether  I'd  grown  strait-laced;  then  she 
at  once  developed  a  most  cunning  plan.  She  had  time  enough. 
She  wasn't  expected  home  till  the  first  of  November,  which 
gave  her  seven  weeks.  So  she  would  announce  her  intention 
of  studying  the  Dutch  galleries,  the  pursuit  of  culture  being 
always  respectable.  She  had  a  companion  and  chaperone,  as 
it  was,  and  her  sister,  who  was  broad-minded  in  such  matters, 
could  be  taken  into  her  confidence.  Her  energy  and  astute- 


298          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

ness  made  me  feel  weak,  and  forced  me  into  the  conspiracy. 
Well,  she  arrived  yesterday.  She's  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Plage, 
a  little  scared,  like  a  bird  that's  dropped  out  of  its  nest,  a 
little  dissatisfied  with  herself,  vexed  by  little  attacks  of  mo- 
rality; and  I,  for  my  part,  don't  know  what  to  do  with  her.  I 
bethought  me  too  late  that  Christian  isn't  to  be  caught  by 
such  tricks,  and  now  I've  got  to  make  it  clear  to  the  girl.  All 
this  is  by  the  way,  prince — a  sort  of  footnote  to  your  dis- 
course, which  I  did  not  intend  to  interrupt." 

Wiguniewski  had  listened  with  very  slight  sympathy.  He 
began  again:  "  These  past  months,  as  I've  said,  have  given 
us  all  an  unforgettable  experience.  We  have  seen  two  free 
personalities  achieving  a  higher  form  of  union  than  any  of  the 
legitimized  ones.  But  suddenly  this  noble  spectacle  turns  into 
a  shabby  farce;  and  it  is  his  fault.  For  such  a  union  has  its 
organic  and  natural  close.  A  man  of  subtle  sensitiveness  knows 
that,  and  adjusts  himself  accordingly.  Instead  of  that,  he 
actually  lets  it  get  to  the  point  of  painful  scenes.  He  seeks 
meetings  that  humiliate  him  and  make  him  absurd.  When 
she  is  out  he  waits  in  her  rooms  for  her  return,  and  endures 
her  passing  him  by  with  a  careless  nod.  Once  he  sat  waiting 
all  night  and  stared  into  a  book.  He  lets  the  Rappard  woman 
treat  him  insolently,  and  doesn't  seem  to  mind  that  the  fruits 
and  flowers  he  sends  daily  are  regularly  refused.  What  is  it? 
What  does  it  mean?  " 

"  It  points  to  some  sorrow,  and  assuredly  to  a  great  sorrow 
for  me,"  Crammon  sighed.  "  It's  incomprehensible." 

"  She  entertained  at  dinner  day  before  yesterday," 
Wiguniewski  continued.  "  As  though  to  mock  him  he  was 
placed  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table.  I  didn't  even  know  the 
people  who  sat  by  him.  It  seems  to  arouse  a  strange  cruelty 
in  her  that  he  doesn't  refuse  to  bear  these  humiliations;  he,  on 
the  other  hand,  seems  to  find  some  inexplicable  lure  in  his 
suffering.  He  sat  down  that  evening  in  silence.  Afterwards  a 
curious  thing  happened.  Groups  had  been  formed  after  dinner. 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  299 

He  stood  a  few  feet  from  Eva  and  gazed  at  her  steadily.  His 
face  had  a  brooding  look  as  he  observed  her.  She  wore  Ignifer, 
which  is  his  gift,  and  looked  like  Diana  with  a  burning  star 
above  her  forehead." 

"  That's  excellently  well  put,  prince,"  Crammon  exclaimed. 

"  The  conversation1  touched  upon  many  subjects  without 
getting  too  shallow.  You  know  her  admirable  way  of  checking 
and  disciplining  talk.  Finally  there  arose  a  discussion  of 
Flemish  literature,  and  some  one  spoke  of  Verhaeren.  She 
quoted  some  verses  of  a  poem  of  his  called  '  Joy.'  The  sense 
was  somewhat  as  follows:  My  being  is  in  everything  that  lives 
about  me;  meadows  and  roads  and  trees,  springs  and  shadows, 
you  become  me,  since  I  have  felt  you  wholly.  There  was  a 
murmur  of  appreciation.  She  went  to  a  shelf  and  took  down  a 
volume  of  Verhaeren's  poems.  She  turned  the  pages,  found  the 
poem  she  sought,  and  suddenly  turned  to  Wahnschaffe.  She 
gave  him  the  book  with  a  gesture  of  command;  he  was  to 
read  the  poem.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  he  obeyed. 
The  effect  of  the  reading  was  both  absurd  and  painful.  He 
read  like  a  schoolboy,  low,  stammering,  and  as  though  the 
content  were  beyond  his  comprehension.  He  felt  the  absurdity 
and  painfulness  of  the  incident  himself,  for  his  colour  changed 
as  the  ecstatic  stanzas  came  from  his  lips  like  an  indifferent 
paragraph  in  a  newspaper;  and  when  he  had  finished  the  read- 
ing, he  laid  the  book  aside,  and  left  without  a  glance  at  any 
one.  But  Eva  turned  to  us,  and  said  as  though  nothing  had 
happened:  'The  verses  are  wonderful,  aren't  they?  '  Yet  her 
lips  trembled  with  fury.  But  what  was  her  purpose?  Did  she 
want  to  prove  to  us  his  inability  to  feel  things  that  are  beautiful 
and  delicate?  Did  she  want  to  put  him  to  shame,  to  punish 
him  and  publicly  expose  the  poverty  of  his  nature?  Or  was  it 
only  an  impatient  whim,  the  annoyance  at  his  dumb  watch- 
fulness and  his  searching  glances?  Mile.  Vanleer  said  later: 
'  If  he  had  read  the  verses  like  a  divine  poet,  she  would  have 
forgiven  him.'  '  Forgiven  him  what?  '  I  asked.  She  smiled, 


300          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

and  answered:  '  Her  own  faithlessness.'  There  may  be  some- 
thing in  that.  At  all  events,  you  should  get  him  out  of  this 
situation,  Herr  von  Crammon." 

"  I  shall  do  all  in  my  power,"  said  Crammon,  and  the  lines 
of  care  about  his  mouth  grew  deeper.  He  wiped  his  forehead. 
"  Of  course  I  don't  know  how  far  my  influence  goes.  It  would 
be  empty  boastfulness  to  guarantee  anything.  I've  been  told 
too  that  he  frequents  all  sorts  of  impossible  dives  with  impos- 
sible people.  I  could  weep  when  I  think  of  it.  He  was  the 
flower  of  modern  manhood,  the  pride  of  my  lengthening  years, 
the  salt  of  the  earth!  Unfortunately  he  had,  even  when  I  left 
him,  certain  attacks  of  mental  confusion,  but  I  put  those  down 
to  the  account  of  that  suspicious  fellow,  Ivan  Becker." 

"  Don't  speak  of  him!  Don't  speak  of  Becker!  "  Wigu- 
niewski  interrupted  sharply.  "  Not  at  least  in  that  manner,  I 
must  beg  and  insist." 

Crammon  opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  and  the  tip  of  his 
tongue  became  visible,  like  a  red  snail  peering  out  of  its  shell. 
He  choked  down  his  discomfort  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Wiguniewski  said:  "At  all  events  you've  given  me  an  indi- 
cation. I  never  considered  such  a  possibility.  It  throws  a 
new  light  on  many  things.  It's  true,  by  the  way,  that  Wahn- 
schaffe  associates  with  questionable  people.  The  queerest  of 
them  all  is  Amadeus  Voss,  a  hypocrite  and  a  gambler.  One 
must  not  couple  such  persons  with  Ivan  Becker.  Becker  may 
have  set  him  upon  a  certain  road.  If  we  assume  that,  a  num- 
ber of  incidents  become  clear.  But  anything  really  baneful 
comes  from  Voss.  Save  your  friend  from  him!  " 

"  I  haven't  seen  the  fellow  yet,"  Crammon  murmured.  "  What 
you  tell  me,  Prince,  doesn't  take  me  quite  unawares.  Never- 
theless, I'm  grateful.  But  let  that  scoundrel  beware!  May 
I  never  drink  another  drop  of  honest  wine,  if  he  escape  me! 
Let  me  never  again  glance  at  a  tempting  bosom,  if  I  don't 
grind  this  infamous  cur  to  pulp.  So  help  me!  " 

Wiguniewski  arose,  and  left  Crammon  to  plan  his  revenge. 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  301 

ii 

The  morning  sun  of  late  September  was  gilding  sea  and 
land,  when  Crammon  entered  Christian's  room.  Christian  was 
sitting  at  his  curved  writing  table.  The  bright  blue  tapestries 
on  the  walls  gleamed;  chairs  and  tables  were  covered  by  a 
hundred  confused  objects.  Everything  pointed  to  the  occu- 
pant's departure. 

"  Don't  let  me  disturb  you,  dear  boy;  I  have  time  enough," 
said  Crammon.  He  swept  some  things  from  a  chair,  sat  down, 
and  lit  his  pipe. 

But  Christian  put  down  his  pen.  "  I  don't  know  what's  the 
matter  with  me,"  he  said  angrily,  without  looking  at  Crammon, 
"  I  can't  get  two  coherent  sentences  down  on  paper.  However 
carefully  I  think  it  out,  by  the  time  it's  written  it  sounds  stiff 
and  silly.  Have  you  the  same  experience?  " 

Crammon  answered:  "  There  are  those  who  have  the  trick. 
It  takes,  primarily,  a  certain  impudence.  You  must  never  stop 
to  ask:  Is  that  correct?  Is  it  true?  Is  it  well-founded? 
Scribble  ahead,  that's  all.  Be  effective,  no  matter  at  what  cost. 
The  cleverest  writers  are  often  the  most  stupid  fellows.  But 
to  whom  are  you  writing?  Is  the  haste  so  great?  Letters 
can  usually  be  put  off." 

"  Not  this  time.  It  is  a  question  of  haste,"  Christian  an- 
swered. "  I  have  a  letter  from  Stettner  and  I  can't  make 
out  his  drift.  He  tells  me  that  he's  quitting  the  service  and 
leaving  for  America.  Before  he  goes  he  wants  to  see  me  once 
more.  He  takes  ship  at  Hamburg  on  October  15.  Now  it  for- 
tunately happens  that  I'll  be  in  Hamburg  on  that  date,  and  I 
want  to  let  him  know." 

"  I  don't  see  any  difficulty  there,"  Crammon  said  seriously. 
"  All  you  need  say  is:  I'll  be  at  such  a  place  on  such  a  day, 
and  expect  or  hope,  et  cetera.  Yours  faithfully  or  sincerely  or 
cordially,  et  cetera.  So  he's  going  to  quit?  Why?  And  run 
off  to  America?  Something  rotten  in  the  state  of  Denmark?  " 


302          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  He  was  challenged  to  a  duel,  it  appears,  and  refused  the 
challenge.  That's  the  only  reason  he  gives.  He  adds  that 
matters  shaped  themselves  so  that  he  is  forced  to  seek  a  new 
life  in  the  New  World.  It  touches  me  closely;  I  was  always 
fond  of  him.  I  must  see  him." 

"  I'd  be  curious  too  to  know  what  really  happened,"  said 
Crammon.  "  Stettner  didn't  strike  me  as  a  chap  who'd  lightly 
run  away  and  risk  his  honour.  He  was  an  exemplary  officer. 
I'm  afraid  it's  a  dreary  business.  But  I  observe  that  it  gives 
you  a  pretext  for  going  to  Hamburg." 

Christian  started.  "  Why  a  pretext?  "  He  was  a  little 
embarrassed.  "  I  need  no  pretext." 

Crammon  bent  his  head  far  forward,  and  laid  his  chin  on 
the  ivory  handle  of  his  stick.  His  pipe  remained  artfully 
poised  in  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  and  did  not  move  as  he 
spoke.  "  You  don't  mean  to  assert,  my  dearest  boy,  that  your 
conscience  doesn't  require  some  additional  motive  for  the  trip," 
he  began,  like  a  father  confessor  who  is  about  to  use  subtle 
arguments  to  force  a  confession  from  a  stubborn  malefactor, 
"  and  you're  not  going  to  try  to  make  a  fool  of  an  old  boon- 
companion  and  brother  of  your  soul.  One  owes  something  to  a 
friend.  You  should  not  forget  under  whose  auspices  and 
promises  you  entered  the  great  world,  nor  what  securities  he 
offered — securities  of  the  heart  and  mind — who  was  the  author 
and  master  of  your  radiant  entry.  Even  Socrates,  that  rogue 
and  revolutionary,  recalled  such  obligations  on  his  death  bed. 
There  was  a  story  about  a  cock — some  sort  of  a  cock,  I  be- 
lieve. Maybe  the  story  doesn't  fit  the  case  at  all.  No  matter. 
I  always  thought  the  ancients  rather  odious.  What  does  matter 
is  that  I  don't  like  your  condition,  and  that  others  who  love 
you  don't  like  it.  It  rends  my  very  heart  to  see  you  pilloried, 
while  people  who  can't  tell  a  stud-horse  from  a  donkey  shrug 
their  shoulders  at  you.  It's  not  to  be  endured.  I'd  rather  we'd 
quarrel  and  exchange  shots  at  a  distance  of  five  paces.  What 
has  happened  to  you?  What  has  come  over  you?  Have  you 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  303 

stopped  gathering  scalps  to  offer  your  own  head?  The  hares 
and  the  hounds,  I  tell  you,  are  diverse  creatures.  I  understand 
all  things  human,  but  the  divine  order  must  be  kept  intact.  It's 
flying  in  the  face  of  providence  that  you  should  stand  at  the 
gate  like  a  beggar.  You  used  to  be  the  one  who  showed  others 
the  door;  they  whined  and  moaned  after  you — and  that  was 
proper.  I  had  an  uncle  who  was  something  of  a  philosopher, 
and  he  used  to  say:  when  a  woman,  a  lawyer,  and  a  stove  are 
at  their  hottest — turn  your  back  to  them.  I've  always  done 
that,  and  kept  my  peace  of  mind  and  my  reputation.  There  are 
extenuating  circumstances  in  your  case,  I  admit.  There  is  but 
one  such  woman  in  a  century,  and  whoever  possesses  her  may 
well  lose  his  reason.  But  even  that  should  not  apply  to  you, 
Christian.  Splendour  is  your  natural  portion:  it  is  for  you  to 
grant  favours;  at  your  board  the  honey  should  be  fresh  each 
day.  And  now  tell  me  what  you  intend  to  do." 

Christian  had  listened  to  this  lengthy  though  wise  and  preg- 
nant discourse  with  great  patience.  At  times  there  was  a  glint 
of  mockery  or  anger  in  his  eyes.  Then  again  he  would  lower 
them  and  seem  embarrassed.  Sometimes  he  grasped  the  sense 
of  Crammon's  words,  sometimes  he  thought  of  other  things. 
It  cost  him  an  effort  to  recall  clearly  by  what  right  this  appar- 
ently complete  stranger  interfered  in  his  life  and  sought  to 
influence  his  decisions.  And  then  again  he  felt  within  himself 
a  certain  tenderness  for  Crammon  in  the  memory  of  common 
experiences  and  intimate  talks;  but  all  that  seemed  so  far 
away  and  so  estranged  from  the  present. 

He  looked  out  of  the  window,  from  which  the  view  was  free 
to  the  horizon  where  sea  and  sky  touched.  Far  in  the  distance 
a  little  white  cloud  floated  like  a  white,  round  pillow.  The 
same  tenderness  that  he  felt  for  Crammon,  he  now  felt  for 
that  little  cloud. 

And  as  Crammon  sat  before  him  and  waited  for  an  answer, 
there  suddenly  came  into  his  mind  the  story  of  the  ring  which 
Amadeus  had  told  him.  He  began:  "  A  young  candidate  for 


304          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Holy  Orders,  who  was  tutor  to  the  children  of  a  banker,  fell 
under  the  suspicion  of  having  stolen  a  costly  ring.  He  told  me 
the  story  himself,  and  from  his  words  I  knew  that  the  ring, 
when  he  saw  it  on  the  hand  of  his  employer's  wife,  aroused  his 
desire.  In  addition  he  loved  this  woman,  and  would  have  been 
happy  to  have  had  something  by  which  to  remember  her.  But 
he  was  utterly  innocent  of  the  disappearance  of  the  ring,  and 
some  time  after  he  had  left  that  house,  his  innocence  received 
the  most  striking  confirmation.  For  the  lady  sent  him  the  ring 
as  a  gift.  He  was  wretchedly  poor,  and  the  ring  would  have 
meant  much  to  him;  but  he  went  and  threw  it  into  a  well, 
a  deep  old-fashioned  well.  The  costliest  thing  he  had  ever 
possessed  in  life,  he  threw  without  hesitation  or  reflection  into 
a  well — that's  what  this  man  did." 

"  Oh,  well,  very  well.  Although  .  .  .  no,  I  don't  quite 
see  your  meaning,"  said  Crammon,  discontentedly,  and  shifted 
his  pipe  from  the  right  to  the  left  corner  of  his  mouth.  "  What 
good  did  the  ring  do  the  poor  fool?  How  absurd  to  take  some- 
thing that  reaches  you  in  a  manner  so  delicate  and  discreet, 
and  throw  it  into  a  well?  Would  not  a  box  have  served,  or  a 
drawer?  There  at  least  it  could  have  been  found.  It  was  a 
loutish  trick." 

Crammon's  way  of  sitting  there  with  his  legs  crossed,  show- 
ing his  grey  silk  socks,  had  something  about  it  so  secure  and 
satiated,  that  it  reminded  one  of  an  animal  that  basks  in  the 
sun  and  digests  its  food.  Christian's  disgust  at  his  words 
quieted,  and  was  replaced  by  a  gentle,  almost  compassionate 
tenderness.  He  said:  "  It  is  so  hard  to  renounce.  You  can 
talk  about  it  and  imagine  it;  you  can  will  it  and  even  believe 
yourself  capable  of  it.  But  when  the  moment  of  renunciation 
comes,  it  is  hard,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  give  up  even  the 
humblest  of  things." 

"  Yes,  but  why  do  you  want  to  renounce?  "  Crammon  mur- 
mured in  his  vexation.  "  What  do  you  mean  exactly  by  re- 
nunciation? What  is  it  to  lead  to?  " 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  .305 

Christian  said  almost  to  himself:  "  I  believe  that  one  must 
cast  one's  ring  into  a  well." 

"  If  you  mean  by  that  that  you  intend  to  forget  our  wonder- 
ful Queen  Mab,  all  I  have  to  say  is — the  Lord  help  you  in  your 
purpose,"  Crammon  answered. 

"  One  holds  fast  and  clings  because  one  fears  the  step  into 
the  unknown,"  Christian  said. 

Crammon  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes  and  wrinkled  his 
forehead.  Then  he  cleared  his  throat  and  asked:  "Did  you 
ever  hear  about  homoeopathy?  I'll  explain  to  you  what  is 
meant  by  it.  It  means  curing  like  with  like.  If  for  instance 
some  food  has  disagreed  with  you  violently,  and  I  give  you  a 
drug  that  would,  in  a  state  of  health,  have  sickened  you  even 
more  violently  than  your  food — that  would  be  a  homoeopathic 
treatment." 

"  So  you  want  to  cure  me?  "  Christian  asked,  and  smiled. 
"  From  what  and  with  what?  " 

Crammon  moved  his  chair  nearer  to  Christian's,  laid  a  hand 
on  his  knees,  and  whispered  astutely:  "  I've  got  something  for 
you,  dear  boy.  I've  made  an  exquisite  find.  There's  a  woman 
in  your  horoscope,  as  the  sooth-sayers  put  it.  Some  one  is 
yearning  for  you,  is  immensely  taken  with  you,  and  dying  of 
impatience  to  know  you.  And  it's  something  quite  different, 
a  new  type,  something  prickling  and  comical,  indeterminate, 
sensitive,  a  little  graceless  and  small  and  not  beautiful,  but 
enormously  charming.  She  comes  from  the  bourgeoisie  at  its 
most  obese,  but  she  struggles  with  both  hands  and  feet  against 
the  fate  of  being  a  pearl  in  a  trough.  There's  your  chance  for 
employment,  distraction,  and  refreshment.  It  won't  be  a  long 
affair, — an  interlude  of  her  holidays,  but  instructive,  and,  in  the 
homoeopathic  sense,  sure  to  work  a  cure.  For  look  you:  Ariel, 
she  is  a  miracle,  a  star,  the  food  of  the  gods.  You  can't  live 
on  such  nourishment;  you  need  bread.  Descend,  my  son,  from 
the  high  tower  where  you  still  grasp  after  the  miraculum  cocli 
that  once  flamed  on  your  bosom.  Put  it  out  of  your  mind; 


306          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

descend,  and  be  contented  with  mortality.  To-night  at  seven 
in  the  dining-room  of  the  Hotel  de  la  Plage.  Is  it  a  bargain?  " 

Christian  laughed,  and  got  up.  On  the  table  stood  a  vase 
filled  with  white  pinks.  He  took  out  one  of  the  flowers,  and 
fastened  it  into  Crammon's  button-hole. 

"  Is  it  a  bargain  or  not?  "  Crammon  asked  severely. 

"  No,  dear  friend,  there's  nothing  in  that  for  me,"  Christian 
answered,  laughing  more  heartily.  "  Keep  your  find  to  your- 
self." 

The  veins  on  Crammon's  forehead  swelled.  "  But  I've  prom- 
ised to  bring  you,  and  you  mustn't  leave  me  in  the  lurch." 
He  was  in  a  rage.  "  I  don't  deserve  such  treatment,  after  all 
the  slights  which  you  have  put  on  me  for  months.  You  give 
rights  to  an  obscure  vagabond  that  astonish  the  whole  world, 
and  you  cast  aside  heartlessly  an  old  and  proved  friend.  That 
does  hurt  and  embitter  and  enrage  one.  I'm  through." 

"  Calm  yourself,  Bernard,"  said  Christian,  and  stooped  to 
pick  up  some  blossoms  that  had  fallen  on  the  floor.  And  as  he 
put  back  the  flowers  into  the  vase,  there  came  to  him  the  vision 
of  Amadeus  Voss'  white  face,  showing  his  bleeding  soul  and 
paralyzed  by  desire  and  renunciation,  even  as  it  was  turned 
toward  the  fat,  morose  Walloon  woman.  "  I  don't  comprehend 
your  stubbornness,"  he  continued.  "  Why  won't  you  let  me 
be?  Don't  you  know  that  I  bring  misfortune  to  all  who  love 
me?" 

Crammon  was  startled.  Despite  Christian's  equivocal  smile, 
he  felt  a  sudden  twinge  of  superstitious  fear.  "Idiotic!  "  he 
growled.  He  arose  and  took  his  hat,  and  still  tried  to  wring 
from  Christian  a  promise  for  the  evening.  At  that  moment  a 
knock  sounded  at  the  door,  and  Amadeus  Voss  entered. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered,  and  looked  shyly  at 
Crammon,  who  had  at  once  assumed  an  attitude  of  hostility. 
"  I  merely  wanted  to  ask  you,  Christian,  whether  we  are  going 
to  leave.  Shall  the  packing  be  done?  We  must  know  what 
to  do." 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  307 

Crammon  was  furious.  "  Fancy  the  scoundrel  taking  such  a 
tone,"  he  thought.  He  could  hardly  force  himself  to  assume 
the  grimace  of  courtesy  that  became  inevitable  when  Christian, 
quite  hesitatingly,  introduced  them  to  each  other. 

Amadeus  bowed  like  an  applicant  for  some  humble  office. 
His  eyes  behind  their  lenses  clung  to  Crammon,  like  the 
valves  of  an  exhaust  pump.  He  found  Crammon  repulsive 
at  once;  but  he  thought  it  advisable  not  only  to  hide  this  feel- 
ing but  to  play  the  part  of  obsequiousness.  His  hatred  was  so 
immediate  and  so  violent,  that  he  was  afraid  of  showing  it  too 
soon,  and  stripping  himself  of  some  chance  of  translating  it 
into  action. 

Crammon  sought  points  of  attack.  He  treated  Voss  with 
contempt,  looked  at  him  as  though  he  were  a  wad  of  clothes 
against  the  wall,  neither  answered  him  nor  listened  to  what  he 
said,  deliberately  prolonged  his  stay,  and  paid  no  attention 
to  Christian's  nervousness.  Voss  continued  to  play  the  part 
he  had  selected.  He  agreed  and  bowed,  rubbed  the  toe  of  one 
of  his  boots  against  the  sole  of  the  other,  picked  up  Cram- 
mon's  stick  when  the  latter  dropped  it;  but  as  he  seemed  de- 
termined not  to  be  the  first  to  yield,  Crammon  at  last  took  pity 
on  the  silent  wonder  and  torment  in  Christian's  face.  He 
waved  his  well-gloved  left  hand  and  withdrew.  He  seemed  to 
swell  up  in  his  rage  like  a  frog.  "  Softly,  Bernard,"  he  said  to 
himself;  "  guard  your  dignity,  and  do  not  step  into  the  ordure 
at  your  feet.  Trust  in  the  Lord  who  said:  Vengeance  is  mine." 
He  met  a  little  dog  on  his  path,  and  administered  a  kick  to 
it,  so  that  the  beast  howled  and  scurried  into  an  open  cellar. 

Across  the  table  Christian  and  Voss  faced  each  other  in 
silence.  Voss  pulled  a  flower  from  the  vase,  and  shredded  its 
calyx  with  his  thin  fingers.  "  So  that  was  Herr  von  Crammon," 
he  murmured.  "  I  don't  know  why  I  feel  like  laughing. 
But  I  can't  help  it.  I  do."  And  he  giggled  softly  to  him- 
self. 

"  We  leave  to-morrow,"  said  Christian,  held  a  handkerchief 


308          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

to  his  mouth,  and  breathed  the  delicate  perfume  that  aroused  in 
him  so  many  tender  and  slowly  fading  images. 

Voss  took  a  blossom,  tore  it  in  two,  gazed  tensely  at  the 
parts,  and  said:  "  Fibre  by  fibre,  cell  by  cell.  I  am  done  with 
this  life  of  sloth  and  parasitism.  I  want  to  cut  up  the  bodies 
of  men  and  anatomize  corpses.  Perhaps  one  can  get  at  the 
seat  of  weakness  and  vulgarity.  One  must  seek  life  at  its 
source  and  death  at  its  root.  The  talent  of  an  anatomist  stirs 
within  me.  Once  I  wanted  to  be  a  great  preacher  like  Savo- 
narola ;  but  it's  a  reckless  thing  to  try  in  these  days.  One  had 
better  stick  to  men's  bodies;  their  souls  would  bring  one  to 
despair." 

"  I  believe  one  must  work,"  Christian  answered  softly.  "  It 
does  not  matter  at  what.  But  one  must  work."  He  turned 
toward  the  window.  The  round,  white  cloud  had  vanished ;  the 
silver  sea  had  sucked  it  up. 

"  Have  you  come  to  that  conclusion?  "  Voss  jeered.  "  I've 
known  it  long.  The  way  to  hell  is  paved  with  work ;  and  only 
hell  can  burn  us  clean.  It  is  well  that  you  have  learned  that 
much." 

in 

Crammon  and  Johanna  Schontag  were  sitting  in  a  drawing- 
room  of  the  hotel.  They  had  had  dinner  together.  Johanna's 
companion,  Fraulein  Grabmeier,  had  already  retired. 

"  You  must  be  patient,  Rumpelstilzkin,"  said  Crammon. 
"  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  he  hasn't  bitten  yet.  The  bait  is  still 
in  the  water." 

"  I'll  be  patient,  my  lord,"  said  Johanna,  in  her  slightly 
rough,  boyish  voice,  and  a  gleam  of  merriment,  in  which  charm 
and  ugliness  were  strangely  blended,  passed  over  her  face. 
"  I  don't  find  it  very  hard  either.  Everything  is  sure  to  go 
wrong  with  me  in  the  end.  If  ever  unexpectedly  a  wish  of 
mine  is  fulfilled,  and  something  I  looked  forward  to  does  hap- 
pen, I'm  as  wretched  as  I  can  be,  because  it's  never  as  nice 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  309 

as  I  thought  it  would  be.  The  best  thing  for  me,  therefore,  is 
to  be  disappointed." 

"  You're  a  problematic  soul,"  said  Crammon  musingly. 

Johanna  gave  a  comical  sigh.  "  I  advise  you,  dear  friend  and 
protector,  to  get  rid  of  me  by  return  post."  She  stretched  her 
thin  little  neck  with  an  intentionally  bizarre  movement.  "  I 
simply  interfere  with  the  traffic.  I'm  a  personified  evil  omen. 
At  my  birth  a  lady  by  the  name  of  Cassandra  appeared,  and  I 
needn't  tell  you  the  disagreeable  things  that  have  been  said  of 
her.  You  remember  how  when  we  were  at  target  practice  at 
Ashburnhill  I  hit  the  bull's-eye.  Everybody  was  amazed, 
yourself  included;  but  I  more  so  than  any  one,  because  it  was 
pure,  unadulterated  chance.  The  rifle  had  actually  gone  off 
before  I  had  taken  aim.  Fate  gives  me  such  small  and  worth- 
less gifts,  in  order  to  seem  friendly  and  lull  me  into  security. 
But  I'm  not  to  be  deceived.  Ugh!  A  nun,  a  nun!  "  she  inter- 
rupted herself.  Her  eyes  became  very  large,  as  she  looked  into 
the  garden  where  an  Ursuline  nun  was  passing  by.  Then 
she  crossed  her  arms  over  her  bosom,  and  counted  with  ex- 
traordinary readiness:  "  Seven,  six,  five,  four,  three,  two, 
one."  Then  she  laughed,  and  showed  two  rows  of  marvellous 
teeth. 

"  Is  it  your  custom  to  do  that  whenever  a  nun  appears?  " 
Crammon  asked.  His  interest  in  superstitions  was  aroused. 

"  It's  the  proper  ritual  to  follow.  But  she  was  gone  before  I 
came  to  one,  and  that  augurs  no  good.  By  the  way,  dear 
baron,  your  sporting  terminology  sounds  suspicious.  What 
does  that  mean:  '  he  hasn't  bitten  yet;  the  bait  is  still  in  the 
water  '  ?  I  beg  you  to  restrain  yourself.  I'm  an  unprotected 
girl,  and  wholly  dependent  on  your  delicate  chivalry.  If  you 
shake  my  tottering  self-confidence  by  any  more  reminiscences 
of  the  sporting  world,  I'll  have  to  telegraph  for  two  berths  on 
the  Vienna  train.  For  myself  and  Fraulein  Grabmeier,  of 
course." 

She  loved  these  daring  little  implications,  from  which  she 


3io          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

could  withdraw  quite  naively.  Crammon  burst  into  belated 
laughter,  and  that  fact  stirred  her  merriment  too. 

She  was  very  watchful,  and  nothing  escaped  her  attentive 
eyes.  She  took  a  burning  interest  in  the  characters  and  actions 
of  people.  She  leaned  toward  Crammon  and  they  whispered  to- 
gether, for  he  could  tell  a  story  about  each  form  and  face  that 
emerged  from  the  crowd.  The  chronicle  of  international  bi- 
ography and  scandal  of  which  he  was  master  was  inexhaustible. 
If  ever  his  memory  failed  him,  he  invented  or  poetized  a  little. 
He  had  everything  at  his  tongue's  end — disputes  concerning 
inheritances,  family  quarrels,  illegitimate  descent,  adulteries, 
relationships  of  all  sorts.  Johanna  listened  to  him  with  a  smile. 
She  peered  at  all  the  tables  and  carefully  observed  every  un- 
common detail.  She  picked  up  and  pinned  down,  as  an  en- 
tomologist does  his  beetles,  any  chance  remark  or  roguish 
expression,  any  silliness  or  peculiarity  of  any  of  these  un- 
conscious actors  of  the  great  world  or  the  half  world. 

Suddenly  the  pupils  of  her  greyish  blue  eyes  grew  very  large, 
and  her  lips  curved  in  a  bow  of  childlike  delight.  "  Who  is 
that?  "  she  whispered,  and  thrust  her  chin  out  a  little  in  the 
direction  of  a  door  at  Crammon's  back.  But  she  at  once  knew 
instinctively  who  it  was.  She  would  have  known  it  without  the 
general  raising  of  heads  and  softening  of  voices,  of  which  she 
became  aware. 

Crammon  turned  around  and  saw  Eva  amid  a  group  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen.  He  arose,  waited  until  Eva  glanced  in  his 
direction,  and  then  bowed  very  low.  Eva  drew  back  a  little. 
She  had  not  seen  him  since  the  days  of  Denis  Lay.  She 
thought  a  little,  and  nodded  distantly.  Then  she  recognized 
him,  kicked  back  her  train  with  an  incomparable  grace,  and, 
speaking  in  every  line  before  her  lips  moved,  went  up  to  him. 

Johanna  had  arisen  too.  Eva  remarked  the  little  figure.  She 
gave  Crammon  to  understand  that  he  had  a  duty  toward  his 
companion,  and  that  she  would  not  refuse  an  introduction  to 
the  unknown  girl,  on  whose  face  enthusiasm  and  homage  were 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  311 

so  touchingly  to  be  seen.  Crammon  introduced  Johanna  in  his 
most  ceremonious  manner.  Johanna  grew  pale  and  red  and 
curtsied.  She  seemed  to  herself  suddenly  so  negligible  that  she 
was  overcome  with  shame.  Then  she  tore  off  the  three  yellow 
roses  at  her  corsage,  and  held  them  out  to  Eva  with  a  sudden 
and  yet  timid  gesture.  Eva  liked  this  impulse.  She  felt  its 
uniqueness  and  veracity,  and  therefore  knew  its  value. 


IV 

Christian  and  Amadeus  wandered  across  the  Quai  Kokerill 
in  Antwerp. 

A  great  transatlantic  liner  lay,  silent  and  empty,  at  the 
pier.  The  steerage  passengers  waited  at  its  side  for  the  hour 
of  their  admission.  They  were  Polish  peasants,  Russian  Jews, 
men  and  women,  young  ones  and  aged  ones,  children  and  suck- 
lings. They  crouched  on  the  cold  stones  or  on  their  dirty 
bundles.  They  were  themselves  dirty,  neglected,  weary,  dully 
brooding — a  melancholy  and  confused  mass  of  rags  and  human 
bodies. 

The  mighty  globe  of  the  sun  rolled  blood-red  and  quivering 
over  the  waters. 

Christian  and  Amadeus  stopped.  After  a  while  they  went  on, 
but  Christian  desired  to  turn  back,  and  they  did  so.  At  a 
crossing  near  the  emigrants'  camp,  a  line  of  ten  or  twenty 
donkey-carts  cut  off  the  road.  The  carts  looked  liked  bisected 
kegs  on  wheels,  and  were  filled  with  smoked  mackerels. 

"  Buy  mackerels!  "  the  cart-drivers  cried.  "  Buy  macker- 
els! "  And  they  cracked  their  whips. 

A  few  of  the  emigrants  approached  and  stared  hungrily; 
they  consulted  with  others,  who  were  already  looking  for  coins 
in  their  pockets,  until  finally  a  few  determined  ones  proceeded 
to  make  a  purchase. 

Then  Christian  said  to  Voss:  "Let  us  buy  the  fish  and 
distribute  them.  What  do  you  think?  " 


312          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Amadeus  was  ill  pleased.  He  answered.  "Do  as  you  wish. 
Great  lords  must  have  their  little  pleasures."  He  felt  uncom- 
fortable amid  the  gathering  crowd. 

Christian  turned  to  one  of  the  hucksters.  It  was  difficult  to 
make  the  man  understand  normal  French,  but  gradually  he 
succeeded.  The  huckster  summoned  the  others,  and  there  fol- 
lowed excited  chatter  and  gesticulations.  Various  sums  were 
named  and  considered  and  rejected.  This  process  bored  Chris- 
tian; it  threatened  to  be  endless.  He  offered  a  sum  that  repre- 
sented a  considerable  increase  over  the  highest  price  named, 
and  handed  his  wallet  to  Amadeus  that  the  men  might  be 
paid.  Then  he  said  to  the  increasing  throng  of  emigrants  in 
German:  "  The  fish  are  yours." 

A  few  understood  his  words,  and  conveyed  their  meaning 
to  the  others.  Timidly  they  ventured  forward.  A  woman, 
whose  skin  was  yellow  as  a  lemon  from  jaundice,  was  the  first 
to  touch  a  fish.  Soon  hundreds  came.  From  all  sides  they 
brought  baskets,  pots,  nets,  sacks.  A  few  old  men  kept  the 
crowd  in  order.  One  of  these,  who  wore  a  flowing  white  beard 
and  a  long  Jewish  coat,  bowed  down  thrice  before  Christian. 
His  forehead  almost  touched  the  earth. 

A  sudden  impulse  compelled  Christian  to  see  in  person  to  the 
just  distribution  of  the  fish.  He  turned  up  his  sleeves,  and 
with  his  delicate  hands  threw  the  greasy,  malodourous  fish 
into  the  vessels  held  out  for  them.  He  laughed  as  he  soiled  his 
fingers.  The  hucksters  and  some  idle  onlookers  laughed  too. 
They  thought  him  a  crazy,  young  Englishman  out  for  a  lark. 
Suddenly  his  gorge  rose  at  the  odour  of  the  fish,  and  even 
more  at  the  odour  of  these  people.  He  smelled  their  clothes 
and  their  breath,  and  gagged  at  the  thought  of  their  teeth  and 
fingers,  their  hair  and  shoes.  A  morbid  compulsion  forced  him 
to  think  of  their  naked  bodies,  and  he  shuddered  at  the  idea 
of  their  flesh.  So  he  stopped,  and  slipped  away  into  the 
twilight. 

His  hands  still  reeked  of  the  smoked  fish.     He  walked 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  313 

through  the  streets  that  had  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  adven- 
ture and  the  night  seemed  empty. 

Amadeus  Voss  had  escaped.  He  waited  in  front  of  the 
hotel.  There  the  line  of  motor  cars  had  gathered  that  was  to 
accompany  Eva  on  her  journey  to  Germany.  Among  the 
travellers  were  Crammon  and  Johanna  Schontag. 


In  October  the  weather  turned  hot  on  the  Rio  de  la  Plata. 
All  day  one  had  to  stay  in  the  house.  If  one  opened  a  window, 
living  fire  seemed  to  stream  in.  Once  Letitia  fainted,  when  she 
wanted  to  air  her  stuffy  room,  and  opened  one  of  the  wooden 
shutters. 

The  only  spot  that  offered  some  shade  and  coolness  toward 
evening  was  an  avenue  of  palms  beside  the  river.  Sometimes, 
during  the  brief  twilight,  Letitia  and  her  young  sister-in-law 
Esmeralda  would  steal  away  to  that  place.  Their  road  passed 
th,e  ranches,  the  wretched  cave-like  huts  in  which  the  native 
workmen  lived. 

Once  Letitia  saw  the  people  of  the  ranchos  merrily  feast- 
ing and  in  their  best  garments.  She  asked  for  the  reason, 
and  was  told  that  a  child  had  died.  "  They  always  cele- 
brate when  some  one  dies,"  Esmeralda  told  her.  "  How  sad 
must  their  lives  be  to  make  them  so  in  love  with  death." 

The  avenue  of  palms  was  forbidden  ground.  When  dark- 
ness came,  the  bushes  rustled,  and  furtive  men  slipped  back 
and  forth.  Not  long  before  the  mounted  police  had  caught 
a  sailor  here  who  was  wanted  for  a  murder  in  Galveston. 
Somehow  Letitia  dreamed  of  him.  She  was  sure  he  had 
killed  his  man  through  jealousy  and  bore  the  marks  of  a 
beautiful  tragedy. 

One  evening  she  had  met  in  this  spot  a  young  naval  officer, 
who  was  a  guest  on  a  neighbouring  estate.  Letitia  exchanged 
glances  with  him,  and  from  that  time  on  he  sought  some 
way  of  approaching  her.  But  she  was  like  a  prisoner,  or 


314          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

like  a  Turkish  woman  in  a  harem.  So  she  determined  to 
outwit  her  guards;  she  really  fell  in  love  with  the  young 
officer.  Her  imagination  made  an  heroic  figure  of  him,  and 
she  began  to  long  for  him. 

The  heat  increased.  Letitia  could  not  sleep  at  night.  The 
mosquitoes  hummed  sweetishly,  and  she  cried  like  a  little  child. 
By  day  she  locked  herself  in  her  room,  stripped  off  her 
clothes,  and  lay  down  on  the  cold  tiles. 

Once  she  was  lying  thus  with  arms  outstretched.  "  I'm 
like  an  enchanted  princess,"  she  thought,  "  in  an  enchanted 
castle." 

Some  one  knocked  at  the  door,  and  she  heard  Stephen's 
voice  calling  her.  Idly  she  raised  her  head,  and  from  under 
her  heavy  lids  gazed  down  at  her  naked  body.  "  What  a 
bore  it  is,"  she  thought,  "  what  a  terrible  bore  always  to  be 
with  the  same  man.  I  want  others  too."  She  did  not  an- 
swer, and  let  her  head  droop,  and  rubbed  her  glowing  cheek 
against  the  warm  skin  of  her  upper  arm.  It  pleased  the  mas- 
ter of  the  harem  out  there  to  beg  for  admission;  but  Letitia 
did  not  open  the  door. 

After  a  while  she  heard  a  tumult  in  the  yard — laughter, 
the  cracking  of  whips,  the  report  of  rifles,  and  the  cries  of 
beasts  in  torment.  She  jumped  up,  slipped  into  a  silk  dress- 
ing gown,  opened  the  window  that  gave  on  the  verandah,  and 
peered  out. 

Stephen  had  tied  together  the  tails  of  two  cats  by  means 
of  a  long  fuse.  Along  the  fuse  were  fastened  explosive  bits 
of  firework.  The  hissing  little  rockets  singed  the  cats'  fur, 
and  the  glowing  cord  burned  into  their  flesh.  The  cats  tum- 
bled about  in  their  agony  and  howled.  Stephen  goaded  them 
and  followed  them.  His  brothers,  bent  over  the  balustrade, 
roared  with  delight.  Two  Indians,  grave  and  silent,  watched 
from  the  gate. 

Stephen  had,  of  course,  counted  on  Letitia's  opening  the 
door  in  her  curiosity.  A  few  great  leaps,  and  he  was  beside 


KAREN   ENGELSCHALL  315 

her.  Esmeralda,  who  was  in  the  plot,  had  at  once  faced 
Letitia  and  prevented  her  from  locking  the  door.  White  with 
rage,  and  with  raised  fist,  he  stormed  across  the  threshold. 
She  fell  to  her  knees,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Why  do  you  beat  me?  "  she  moaned,  in  horror  and  sur- 
prise. But  he  did  not  touch  her. 

His  teeth  gnashed.     "  To  teach  you  to  obey." 

She  sobbed.  "  Be  careful!  It's  not  only,  me  you're  hurt- 
ing now!  " 

"  Damnation,  what  are  you  saying?  "  He  stared  at  her 
crouching  figure. 

"  You're  hurting  two  now."  Letitia  enjoyed  fooling  him. 
Her  tears  were  now  tears  of  pity  for  herself. 

"  Woman,  is  that  true?  "  he  asked.  Letitia  peered  fur- 
tively between  her  fingers,  and  thought  mockingly:  "  It's  like 
the  last  act  of  a  cheap  opera."  She  nodded  with  a  gesture  of 
pain,  and  determined  to  deceive  him  with  the  naval  officer. 

Stephen  gave  a  howl  of  triumph,  danced  about,  threw  him- 
self down  beside  her,  and  kissed  her  arms,  her  shoulders,  and 
her  neck.  At  the  windows  and  doors  appeared  Dona  Bar- 
bara, Esmeralda,  Stephen's  brothers,  and  the  servants.  He 
lifted  Letitia  on  his  strong  shoulders,  and  carried  her  about 
on  the  verandah.  He  roared  his  orders:  a  feast  was  to  be 
prepared,  an  ox  slaughtered,  champagne  to  be  put  on  ice. 

Letitia  had  no  qualms  of  conscience.  She  was  glad  to 
have  made  a  fool  of  him. 

When  old  Gunderam  learned  the  cause  of  the  rejoicing 
in  his  house,  he  chuckled  to  himself.  "  Fooled  all  the  same, 
my  sly  lawyer  man.  In  spite  of  the  written  agreement,  you 
won't  get  the  Escurial,  not  for  a  good  while,  even  if  she  has 
a  whole  litter."  With  an  unappetizing,  broken  little  comb 
he  smoothed  his  iron  grey  beard,  and  poured  eau  de  Cologne 
on  his  head,  until  his  hair,  which  was  still  thick,  dripped. 

But,  strangely  enough,  the  lie  that  Letitia  had  told 
in  her  terror  turned  out  to  be  the  truth.  In  a  few  days  she 


316          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

was  sure.  Secretly  she  was  amazed.  Every  morning  she 
stood  before  the  mirror,  and  looked  at  herself  with  a  strange 
respect  and  a  subtle  horror.  But  she  was  unchanged.  Her 
mood  became  gently  melancholy,  and  she  threw  a  kiss  to 
her  image  in  the  glass. 

Since  they  were  now  afraid  of  crossing  her  wishes,  she  was 
permitted  to  attend  a  ball  given  by  Sefior  and  Senora  Kiichel- 
backer,  and  it  was  there  that  she  made  the  formal  acquaint- 
ance of  the  naval  lieutenant,  Friedrich  Pestel. 

VI 

Felix  Imhof  and  the  painter  Weikhardt  met  at  the  ex- 
hibition of  the  "  secessionists  "  in  Munich.  For  a  while  they 
strolled  through  the  rooms,  and  looked  at  the  paintings; 
then  they  went  out  on  the  terrace,  and  sat  down  at  a  table 
that  commanded  a  view  of  the  park. 

It  was  in  the  early  afternoon,  and  the  odours  of  oil  and 
turpentine  from  within  blended  with  the  fragrance  of  the 
sun-warmed  plants. 

Imhof  crossed  his  long  legs,  and  yawned  affectedly.  "  I'm 
going  to  leave  this  admirable  home  of  art  and  letters  for 
some  months,"  he  declared.  "  I'm  going  to  accompany  the 
minister  of  colonial  affairs  to  South  West  Africa.  I'm  anx- 
ious to  see  how  things  are  going  there.  Those  people  need 
looking  after.  Then,  too,  it's  a  new  experience,  and  there 
will  be  hunting." 

Weikhardt  was  utterly  self-absorbed.  He  was  full  of  his 
own  annoyances,  his  inner  and  outer  conflicts,  and  therefore 
spoke  only  of  himself.  "  I  am  to  copy  a  cycle  by  Luini  for 
the  old  Countess  Matuschka,"  he  said.  "  She  has  several 
blank  walls  in  her  castle  in  Galicia,  and  she  wants  tapestries 
for  them.  But  the  old  creature  is  close  as  the  bark  on  the 
tree,  and  her  bargaining  is  repulsive."  ' 

Imhof  also  pursued  his  own  thoughts.  "  I've  read  a  lot 
about  Stanhope  recently,"  he  said.  "A  tremendous  fellow, 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  317 

modern  through  and  through,  reporter  and  conquistador  at 
the  same  time.  The  blacks  called  him  the  '  cliff-breaker.' 
It  makes  one's  mouth  water.  Simply  tremendous!  " 

Weikhardt  continued:  "  But  I  dare  say  I'll  have  to  accept 
the  commission.  I've  come  to  the  end  of  my  tether.  It'll 
be  good  to  see  the  old  Italians  again,  too.  In  Milan  there's 
a  Tintoretto  that's  adorable.  I'm  on  the  track  of  a  secret. 
I'm  doing  things  that  will  count.  The  other  day  I  finished 
a  picture,  a  simple  landscape,  and  took  it  to  an  acquaintance 
of  mine.  He  has  a  rather  exquisite  room,  and  there  we 
hung  it.  The  walls  had  grey  hangings,  and  the  furnishings 
were  in  black  and  gold.  He's  a  rich  man  and  wanted  to 
buy  the  picture.  But  when  I  saw  how  much  he  liked  it, 
and  saw,  too,  the  delicate,  melancholy  harmony  of  its  col- 
ours with  the  tints  of  the  room,  I  felt  a  sudden  flash  of  en- 
couragement. I  couldn't  bear  to  talk  money,  and  I  simply 
gave  him  the  thing.  He  accepted  it  quietly  enough,  but 
he  continued  saying:  '  How  damned  good  it  is!  '" 

"  It'll  take  my  thoughts  off  myself,  this  little  trip  to  the 
Southern  Hemisphere,"  said  Imhof.  "I'm  not  exactly  fa- 
voured of  fortune  just  now.  To  be  frank — everything's  in 
the  deuce  of  a  mess.  My  best  horse  went  to  smash,  my 
favourite  dog  died,  my  wife  took  French  leave  of  me,  and 
my  friends  avoid  me — I  don't  know  why.  My  business  is 
progressing  backward,  and  all  my  speculations  end  in  losses. 
But,  after  all,  what  does  it  matter?  I  say  to  myself:  Never 
say  die,  old  boy!  Here's  the  great,  beautiful  world,  and  all 
the  splendour  and  variety  of  life.  If  you  complain,  you  de- 
serve no  better.  My  sandwich  has  dropped  into  the  mud. 
All  right;  I  must  get  a  fresh  one.  Whoever  goes  to  war 
must  expect  wounds.  The  main  thing  is  to  stick  to  your 
flag.  The  main  thing  is  faith — quite  simple  faith." 

It  was  still  a  question  which  of  the  two  would  first  turn 
his  attention  from  himself,  and  hear  his  companion's  voice. 
Weikhardt,  whose  eyes  had  grown  sombre,  spoke  again:  "  O 


3i8         THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

this  dumb  loneliness  in  a  studio,  with  one's  hundred  failures, 
and  the  ghosts  of  one's  thousand  hours  of  despair!  I  have 
a  chance  to  marry,  and  I'm  going  to  take  it,  too.  The 
girl  has  no  money,  to  be  sure,  but  she  has  a  heart.  She's 
not  afraid  of  my  poverty,  and  comprehends  the  necessary 
quixotism  of  an  artist's  life.  She  comes  of  a  Protestant 
family  of  very  liberal  traditions,  but  two  years  ago  she 
became  a  Catholic.  When  I  first  met  her  I  was  full  of 
suspicion,  and  assumed  all  sorts  of  reasons  for  her  step  ex- 
cept the  simple  and  human  ones.  It's  very  difficult  to  see 
the  simple  and  the  human  things,  and  still  more  difficult 
to  do  them.  Gradually  I  understood  what  it  means — to  be- 
lieve! and  I  understood  what  is  to  be  reverenced  in  such 
faith.  It  is  faith  itself  that  is  sacred,  not  that  in  which 
the  faith  is  placed.  It  doesn't  matter  what  one  has  faith 
in — a  book,  a  beast,  a  man,  a  star,  a  god.  But  it  must  be 
pure  faith — immovable  and  unconquerable.  Yes,  I  quite  agree 
with  you — we  need  simple  faith." 

So  they  had  found  each  other  through  a  word.  "When 
do  I  get  my  picture,  your  Descent  from  the  Cross?  "  Imhof 
inquired. 

Weikhardt  did  not  answer  the  question.  As  he  talked 
on,  his  smooth,  handsome,  boyish  face  assumed  the  aspect  of 
a  quarrelsome  old  man's.  Yet  his  voice  remained  gentle  and 
slow,  and  his  bearing  phlegmatic.  "  Humanity  to-day  has 
lost  its  faith,"  he  continued.  "  Faith  has  leaked  out  like 
water  from  a  cracked  glass.  Our  age  is  tyrannised  by  machin- 
ery: it  is  a  mob  rule  without  parallel.  Who  will  save  us 
from  machinery  and  from  business?  The  golden  calf  has 
gone  mad.  The  spirit  of  man  kowtows  to  a  warehouse.  Our 
watchword  is  to  be  up  and  doing.  We  manufacture  Chris- 
tianity, a  renaissance,  culture,  et  cetera.  If  it's  not  quite  the 
real  thing,  yet  it  will  serve.  Everything  tends  toward  the 
external — toward  expression,  line,  arabesque,  gesture,  mask. 
Everything  is  stuck  on  a  hoarding  and  lit  by  electric  lamps. 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  319 

Everything  is  the  very  latest,  until  something  still  later  be- 
gins to  function.  Thus  the  soul  flees,  goodness  ceases,  the 
form  breaks,  and  reverence  dies.  Do  you  feel  no  horror  at 
the  generation  that  is  growing  up?  The  air  is  like  that  before 
the  flood." 

"  Create,  O  artist,  and  don't  philosophize,"  Imhof  said 
gently. 

Weikhardt  was  shamed  a  little.  "  It's  true,"  he  said,  "  we 
have  no  means  of  knowing  the  goal  of  it  all.  But  there  are 
symptoms,  typical  cases  that  leave  little  room  for  hope.  Did 
you  hear  the  story  of  the  suicide  of  the  German-American 
Scharnitzer?  He  was  pretty  well  known  among  artists.  He 
used  to  go  to  the  studios  himself,  and  buy  whatever  took  his 
fancy.  He  never  bargained.  Sometimes  he  would  be  accom- 
panied by  a  daughter  of  eighteen,  a  girl  of  angelic  beauty. 
Her  name  was  Sybil,  and  he  used  to  buy  pictures  for  her. 
She  was  especially  fond  of  still-life  and  flower  pieces.  The 
man  had  been  in  California  and  made  millions  in  lumber. 
Then  he  returned  to  the  fatherland  to  give  the  girl  an  atmos- 
phere of  calm  and  culture.  Sybil  was  his  one  thought,  his 
hope,  his  idol  and  his  world.  He  had  been  married  but  a 
short  time.  His  wife,  it  is  said,  ran  away  from  him.  All 
that  a  life  of  feverish  activity  had  left  him  of  deep  feeling 
and  of  hope  for  the  future  was  centred  in  this  child.  He 
saw  in  her  one  girl  in  a  thousand,  a  little  saint.  And  so  in- 
deed she  seemed — extraordinarily  dainty,  proud  and  ethereal. 
One  would  not  have  dared  to  touch  her  with  one's  finger. 
When  the  two  were  together,  a  delightful  sense  of  harmony 
radiated  from  them.  The  father,  especially,  seemed  happy. 
His  voluntary  death  caused  all  the  more  consternation.  No 
one  suspected  the  motive;  it  was  assumed  that  he  had  suf- 
fered a  moment  of  madness.  But  he  left  behind  him  a  letter 
to  an  American  friend  which  explained  everything.  He  had 
been  indisposed  one  day,  and  had  had  to  stay  in  bed.  Sybil 
had  invited  several  girl  friends  to  tea,  and  the  little  com- 


320          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

pany  was  in  a  room  at  the  other  end  of  their  suite.  But 
all  the  doors  between  were  open,  even  the  last  was  slightly 
ajar,  so  that  the  murmur  of  the  girls'  voices  came  to  him 
inarticulately.  A  sudden  curiosity  seized  him  to  know  what 
they  were  saying.  He  got  up,  slipped  into  a  dressing  gown, 
went  softly  through  the  intervening  rooms,  and  listened  at 
the  door.  The  conversation  was  about  the  future  of  these 
girls — the  possibilities  of  love,  happiness,  and  marriage.  Each 
gave  her  ideas.  Finally  it  was  Sybil's  turn  to  speak  her 
thoughts.  At  first  she  refused;  but  they  urged  her  again 
and  again.  She  said  she  took  no  interest  in  emotions  of  any 
sort;  she  didn't  yearn  for  love;  she  wasn't  able  to  feel  even 
gratitude  to  any  one.  What  she  expected  of  marriage  was 
simply  liberation  from  a  galling  yoke.  She  wanted  a  man 
who  could  give  her  all  that  life  held — boundless  luxury  and 
high  social  position — and  who,  moreover,  would  be  abjectly 
at  her  feet.  That,  she  said,  was  her  program,  and  she 
intended  to  carry  it  out  too.  The  other  girls  fell  silent. 
None  answered.  But  that  hour  poisoned  the  father's  soul. 
This  cynicism,  uttered  by  the  pure  and  spiritual  voice  of 
the  child  he  adored  and  thought  a  miracle  of  depth  and 
sweetness,  the  child  on  whom  he  had  wasted  all  he  was  and 
had,  plunged  him  into  an  incurable  melancholy,  and  caused 
him  finally  to  end  his  life." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  cried  Imhof,  and  waved  his  arm,  "  that 
man  wasn't  a  lumber  merchant,  he  was  a  minor  poet." 

"  It's  possible  that  he  was,"  Weikhardt  replied,  and  smiled; 
"  quite  possible.  What  does  it  alter?  I  admire  a  man  who 
cannot  survive  the  destruction  of  all  his  ideals.  It's  better 
than  to  be  a  cliff-breaker,  I  assure  you.  Most  people  haven't 
any  ideals  to  be  destroyed.  They  adapt  themselves  end- 
lessly, and  become  vulgar  and  sterile."  Again  his  eyes  grew 
sombre,  and  he  added,  half  to  himself:  "  Sometimes  I  dream 
of  one  who  neither  rises  nor  falls,  of  one  who  walks  on 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  321 

earth  whole  and  unchangeable,  unswerving  and  unadaptable. 
Perfectly  unadaptable.  It  is  -of  such  an  one  that  I 
dream." 

Imhof  jumped  up,  and  smoothed  his  coat.  "  Talk,  talk!  " 
he  rattled,  in  the  disagreeable  military  tone  that  he  assumed 
in  his  moments  of  pseudo-virility.  "  Talk  won't  improve 
things."  He  passed  his  arm  through  Weikhardt's,  and  as 
they  left  the  terrace,  which  had  been  gradually  filling  with 
other  guests,  he  recited,  boldly,  unashamed,  and  in  the  same 
tone,  the  alcaic  stanza  of  Holderlin:. 

"  Still  man  will  take  up  arms  against  all  who  breathe ; 
Compelled  by  pride  and  dread  he  consumes  himself 

in  conflict,  and  destroys  the  lovely 
Flower  of  his  peace  that  is  brief  of  blooming." 

vn 

On  their  first  evening  in  Hamburg,  Crammon  rented  a 
box  in  the  playhouse,  and  invited  Christian,  Johanna  Schon- 
tag,  and  Herr  Livholm,  one  of  the  directors  of  the  Lloyd, 
to  be  his  guests.  He  had  made  the  latter's  acquaintance  in 
the  hotel  where  he  had  gone  to  pay  Eva  a  visit  of  welcome. 
He  had  liked  the  man,  who  cut  a  good  figure,  and  so  he  had 
added  him  to  the  party  in  order,  as  he  put  it,  to  keep  the 
atmosphere  normal  by  the  presence  of  an  entirely  neutral 
person. 

"  Social  skill,"  he  was  accustomed  to  say,  "  is  not  unlike 
skill  in  cookery  and  serving.  Between  two  heavy,  rich  dishes 
there  must  be  one  like  foam  that  stimulates  the  palate  quite 
superficially.  Otherwise  the  meal  has  no  style." 

The  play  was  a  mediocre  comedy,  and  Christian  was  frankly 
bored.  Crammon  thought  it  his  duty  to  show  a  condescend- 
ing and  muffled  amusement,  and  now  and  then  he  gave  Chris- 
tian a  gentle  poke,  to  persuade  him  also  to  show  some  appre- 
ciation of  the  performance.  Johanna  was  the  only  one  who 
was  genuinely  amused.  The  source  of  her  amusement  was 


322          THE    WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

an  actor  to  whom  a  serious  role  had  been  assigned,  but  who 
talked  with  such  silly  affectation  and  false  importance  that 
every  time  he  appeared  she  had  to  hold  her  lacy  handker- 
chief to  her  lips  to  smother  her  laughter. 

Occasionally  Christian  gave  the  girl  a  far  and  estranged 
glance.  She  wasn't  either  agreeable  or  the  reverse;  he  did 
not  know  what  to  make  of  her.  This  feeling  of  his  had  not 
changed  since  he  had  first  seen  her  during  the  journey  in 
Eva's  company. 

She  felt  the  coldness  of  his  glance.  Her  merriment  did 
not  vanish;  but  on  the  lower  part  of  her  face  appeared  a 
scarcely  perceptible  shadow  of  disappointment. 

As  though  seeking  for  help,  she  turned  to  Christian.  "  The 
man  is  terribly  funny,  don't  you  think  so?  "  It  was  char- 
acteristic of  her  to  end  a  question  with  a  negative  interro- 
gation. 

"  He's  certainly  worth  seeing,"  Christian  agreed  politely. 

The  door  of  the  box  opened,  and  Voss  entered.  He  was 
faultlessly  dressed  for  the  occasion;  but  no  one  had  ex- 
pected or  invited  him.  They  looked  at  him  in  astonish- 
ment. He  bowed  calmly  and  without  embarrassment,  stood 
quite  still,  and  gave  his  attention  to  the  stage. 

Crammon  looked  at  Christian.  The  latter  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  After  a  while  Crammon  arose,  and  with  sar- 
castic courtesy  pointed  to  his  seat.  Voss  shook  his  head 
in  friendly  refusal,  but  immediately  thereafter  assumed  once 
more  his  air  of  humility  and  abjectness.  He  stammered: 
"  I  was  in  the  stalls  and  looked  up.  I  thought  there  was 
no  harm  in  paying  a  visit."  Suddenly  Crammon  went  out, 
and  was  heard  quarrelling  with  the  usher.  Johanna  had  be- 
come serious,  and  looked  down  at  the  audience.  Christian, 
as  though  to  ward  off  disagreeable  things,  ducked  his  shoul- 
ders a  little.  The  people  in  the  near-by  seats  became  in- 
dignant at  the  noise  Crammon  was  making.  Herr  Livholm 
felt  that  the  proper  atmosphere  had  hardly  been  preserved. 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  323 

Amadeus  Voss  alone  showed  himself  insensitive  to  the  sit- 
uation. 

He  stood  behind  Johanna,  and  thought:  "  The  hair  of  this 
woman  has  a  fragrance  that  turns  one  dizzy."  At  the  end 
of  the  act  he  withdrew,  and  did  not  return. 

Late  at  night,  when  he  had  him  alone,  Crammon  vented 
his  rage  on  Christian.  "  I'll  shoot  him  down  like  a  mad 
dog,  if  he  tries  that  sort  of  thing  again!  What  does  the 
fellow  think?  I'm  not  accustomed  to  such  manners.  Damned 
gallow's  bird — where'd  he  grow  up?  Oh,  my  prophetic  soul! 
I  always  distrusted  people  with  spectacles.  Why  don't  you 
tell  him  to  go  to  hell?  In  the  course  of  my  sinful  life,  I've 
come  in  contact  with  all  kinds  of  people;  I  know  the  best 
and  I  know  the  dregs;  but  this  fellow  is  a  new  type.  Quite 
new,  by  God!  I'll  have  to  take  a  bromide,  or  I  won't  be  able 
to  sleep." 

"  I  believe  you  are  unjust,  Bernard,"  answered  Christian, 
with  lowered  eyes.  But  his  face  was  stern,  reserved,  and 
cold. 

vm 

% 

Amadeus  Voss  submitted  the  following  plan  to  Christian: 
to  go  to  Berlin,  first  as  an  unmatriculated  student,  and 
later  to  prepare  himself  for  the  state  examination  in  medi- 
cine. 

Christian  nodded  approvingly,  and  added  that  he  intended 
to  go  to  Berlin  shortly  too.  Voss  walked  up  and  down  in 
the  room.  Then  he  asked  brusquely:  "What  am  I  to  live 
on?  Am  I  to  address  envelopes?  Or  apply  for  stipends?  If 
you  intend  to  withdraw  your  friendship  and  assistance,  say 
so  frankly.  I've  learned  to  wade  through  the  mud.  The 
new  kind  won't  offer  more  resistance  than  the  old." 

Christian  was  thoroughly  surprised.  A  week  ago,  in  Hol- 
land, he  had  given  Amadeus  ten  thousand  francs.  "  How 
much  will  you  need?  "  he  asked. 


324          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION* 

"  Board,  lodging,  clothes,  books  .  .  ."  Voss  went  over 
the  items,  and  his  expression  was  that  of  one  who  formulates 
demands  and  uses  the  tone  of  request  only  as  a  matter  of 
courtesy.  "  I'll  be  frugal." 

"  I  shall  order  two  thousand  marks  a  month  to  be  sent 
you,"  Christian  said,  with  an  air  of  aversion.  The  impudent 
demand  for  money  pained  him.  Possession  weighed  upon 
him  like  a  mountain.  He  could  not  get  his  arms  free  nor 
lift  his  chest,  and  the  weight  grew  heavier  and  heavier. 

In  a  bowl  of  chrysolite  on  the  table  lay  a  scarf-pin  with 
one  large,  black  pearl.  Voss,  whose  hands  always  groped 
for  some  occupation,  had  taken  it  up,  and  held  it  between 
his  thumb  and  index  finger  against  the  light.  "  Do  you 
want  the  pin?  "  Christian  asked.  "  Take  it,"  he  persuaded 
Amadeus,  who  was  hesitating.  "  I  really  don't  care  about 
it." 

Voss  approached  the  mirror,  and  with  a  curious  smile 
stuck  the  pin  into  his  cravat. 

When  Christian  was  left  alone,  he  stood  for  a  while  quite 
lost  in  thought.  Then  he  sat  down,  and  wrote  to  his  man- 
ager at  Christian's  Rest.  He  wrote  in  his  lanky  script  gind 
his  no  less  awkward  style.  "  My  dear  Herr  Borkowski: — 
I  have  determined  to  sell  Christian's  Rest,  together  with  all 
furnishings  and  objects  of  art,  as  well  as  the  park,  woods, 
and  farms.  I  herewith  commission  you  to  find  a  capable 
and  honest  real  estate  dealer,  who  might  telegraph  me  any 
favourable  offers.  You  know  people  of  that  sort,  and  need 
merely  drive  over  to  Frankfort.  Have  the  kindness  to  settle 
the  matter  as  quietly  as  possible.  No  advertisements  are 
to  appear  in  the  press." 

Then  he  wrote  a  second  letter  to  the  manager  of  his  rac- 
ing stable  at  Waldleiningen.  To  write  this  he  had  to  do 
more  violence  to  his  heart  than  the  first  had  cost  him,  for 
he  saw  constantly  fixed  upon  him  the  gentle  or  spirited  eyes 
of  the  noble  animals.  He  wrote:  "  My  dear  Herr  Schaller: — 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  325 

I  have  determined  to  discontinue  my  racing  stable.  The 
horses  are  to  be  sold  at  auction  or  quietly  to  fanciers.  I 
should  prefer  the  latter  method,  and  I  suppose  you  share 
that  feeling.  Baron  Deidinger  of  Deidingshausen  was  at 
one  time  much  interested  in  Columbus  and  the  mare  Lovely. 
Inquire  of  him  whether  he  wants  them.  Admirable  and 
Bride  o'  the  Wind  could  be  offered  either  to  Prince  Pless 
or  Herr  von  Strathmann.  Have  my  friend  Denis  Lay's  Ex- 
celsior sent  to  Baden-Baden,  and  boarded  temporarily  in  the 
stables  of  Count  Treuberg.  I  don't  wish  him  to  remain  at 
Waldleiningen  alone." 

When  he  had  sealed  the  letters,  he  sighed  with  relief. 
He  rang,  and  gave  the  letters  to  his  valet.  The  latter  had 
turned  to  go,  when  Christian  called  him  back.  "  I'm  very 
sorry  to  have  to  give  you  notice,  Wilhelm,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
going  to  attend  to  myself  hereafter." 

The  man  could  not  trust  his  ears.  He  had  been  with 
Christian  for  three  years,  and  was  genuinely  devoted  to  him. 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  it's  necessary,"  said  Christian,  looked  past 
the  man,  and  had  almost  the  same  strange  smile  with  which 
he  had  watched  Amadeus  Voss  at  the  mirror  putting  the 
black  pearl  pin  into  his  cravat. 

IX 

Crammon  asserted  that  Amadeus  Voss  was  paying  his  at- 
tentions to  Johanna  Schontag.  Johanna  was  annoyed,  and 
tapped  him  with  her  long  gloves.  "  I  congratulate  you  on 
your  conquest,  Rumpelstilzkin,"  Crammon  teased  her.  "  To 
have  a  monster  like  that  in  leash  is  no  small  achievement. 
I  should  advise  muzzling  the  monster,  however.  What  do 
you  think,  Christian,  wouldn't  you  advise  a  muzzle, 
too?  " 

"  A  muzzle?  "  answered  Christian.  "  Yes,  if  it  would  keep 
people  from  talking.  So  many  talk  too  much." 

Crammon  bit  his  lips.     The  reproof  struck  him  as  harsh. 


326          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

Somewhere  beneath  the  downs  of  life  on  which  he  lay  and 
enjoyed  himself,  there  was,  evidently,  a  stone.  The  stone 
hurt.  He  sought  for  it,  but  the  softness  of  the  down  calmed 
him  again,  and  he  forgot  his  pain. 

"  I  was  sitting  in  the  breakfast  room,  and  waiting  for  Ma- 
dame Sorel,"  Johanna  began  in  a  voice  whose  every  shading 
and  inflection  sought  to  woo  Christian's  ear,  "  when  Herr 
Voss  came  in  and  marched  straight  up  to  me.  '  What  does 
that  bad  man  want  of  me?  '  I  asked  myself.  He  asked  me, 
as  though  we'd  been  bosom  friends  for  years,  whether  I  didn't 
want  to  go  with  him  to  St.  Paul's  to  hear  the  famous  itinerant 
preacher  Jacobsen.  I  couldn't  help  laughing,  and  he  stalked 
away  insulted.  But  this  afternoon,  as  I  was  leaving  the  hotel, 
he  seemed  suddenly  to  spring  from  the  earth,  and  invited 
me  to  a  trip  around  the  harbour.  He  had  rented  a  motor 
launch,  and  was  looking  for  a  companion.  He  had  the  same 
gruff  familiarity,  and  when  he  left  he  was  quite  as  insulted 
as  before.  And  you  call  that  paying  attentions?  I  felt  much 
more  as  though  he  were  going  to  drag  me  off  and  murder 
me.  But  perhaps  that's  only  his  manner."  She  laughed. 

"  You're  the  only  person,  at  all  events,  whom  he  distin- 
guishes by  observing  at  all,"  Crammon  said,  with  the  same 
mockery. 

"  Or  the  only  one  whom  he  considers  his  equal,"  Johanna 
said,  with  a  childlike  frown. 

Christian  was  wondering:  "Why  does  she  laugh  so  often? 
Why  are  her  hands  so  pudgy  and  so  very  pink?  "  Johanna 
felt  his  disapproval,  and  was  as  though  paralysed.  And  yet 
Christian  felt  himself  drawn  toward  her  by  some  hidden 
power. 

Why  should  he  resist?  Why  be  so  ceremonious?  Such  was 
his  thought,  as  Johanna  arose,  and  he,  with  unobtrusive  glances, 
observed  her  graceful  form  that  still  possessed  the  flexibility 
of  immaturity.  He  saw  the  nape  of  her  slender  neck,  in  which 
were  expressed  both  the  weakness  of  her  will  and  the  fineness 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  327 

of  her  temper.  He  knew  these  signs;  he  had  often  been  guided 
by  them  and  used  them. 

Crammon,  massive  and  magnificent  in  a  great  easy  chair, 
spoke  with  some  emphasis  of  Eva's  appearance  on  the  morrow. 
The  whole  city  was  in  a  state  of  expectancy.  But  Christian 
and  Johanna  had  suddenly  become  truly  aware  of  one  another. 

"  Are  you  coming  along?  "  Christian  turned  carelessly,  and 
with  a  sense  of  boredom,  to  Crammon. 

"Yes,  my  boy,  let  us  eat!  "  Crammon  cried.  He  called 
Hamburg  the  Paradise  of  Saint  Bernard,  concerning  whom,  as 
his  patron  saint  and  namesake,  he  had  instituted  especial 
investigations,  and  who,  according  to  him,  had  been  a  mighty 
trencherman  during  his  lifetime  at  Tours. 

A  frightened,  subtle,  and  very  feminine  smile  hovered  about 
Johanna's  lips.  As  she  preceded  the  two  men,  the  motions  of 
her  dainty  body  expressed  a  vague  oppression  of  the  spirit,  and 
at  the  same  time  a  humorous  rebellion  against  her  own  un- 
freedom. 

x 

Amadeus  Voss  knew  that  he  had  no  one's  sympathy,  no  one's 
except  Christian's.  And  him  he  suspected,  watching  him, 
weighing  and  analysing  his  words  and  actions.  In  his  terror 
of  hypocrisy  and  treachery,  he  practised  both  himself.  Noth- 
ing healed  or  convinced  or  reconciled  him.  Least  of  all  did 
he  pardon  Christian  the  fact  that  the  latter's  glance  and 
presence  had  the  effect  of  subduing  him.  His  bitterness 
moaned  from  his  very  dreams. 

He  read  in  the  Scriptures:  "There  was  a  certain  house- 
holder, which  planted  a  vineyard,  and  hedged  it  round  about, 
and  digged  a  winepress  in  it,  and  built  a  tower,  and  let  it  out 
to  husbandmen,  and  went  into  a  far  country:  and  when  the 
time  of  the  fruit  drew  near,  he  sent  his  servants  to  the 
husbandmen  that  they  might  receive  the  fruits  of  it.  And 
the  husbandmen  took  his  servants,  and  beat  one,  and  killed 


328          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

another,  and  stoned  another.  Again  he  sent  other  servants, 
more  than  the  first,  and  they  did  unto  them  likewise.  But  last 
of  all,  he  sent  unto  them  his  son,  saying,  They  will  reverence 
my  son.  But  when  the  husbandmen  saw  the  son,  they  said 
among  themselves,  This  is  the  heir;  come,  let  us  kill  him,  and 
let  us  seize  on  his  inheritance.  And  they  caught  him,  and 
cast  him  out  of  the  vineyard,  and  slew  him." 

Sometimes  he  would  not  leave  Christian's  side  for  hours. 
He  would  study  his  gestures  and  the  expressions  of  his  counte- 
nance, and  all  these  perceptions  fed  the  corrosive  fire  in  his 
brain.  For  this  was  the  heir!  Then  he  would  flee  and  bruise 
and  stamp  upon  his  very  soul,  until  his  consciousness  of  guilt 
cast  him  down  into  the  very  dust.  He  would  return,  and  his 
demeanour  would  be  a  silent  confession:  "  I  can  thrive  only  in 
your  presence."  It  seemed  to  him  that  this  silence  of  his  was 
like  a  cry;  but  it  was  not  heard,  and  so  his  brother  seemed 
again  to  become  his  foe.  Thus  he  kept  passing  from 
darkness,  through  fires  and  fumes,  back  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

He  suffered  from  his  own  embarrassment  and  importunate- 
ness.  In  the  midst  of  luxury  and  plenty,  into  which  he  had 
been  transferred  by  a  fabulous  turn  of  fortune,  he  suffered  from 
the  memories  of  his  former  poverty,  still  felt  how  it  had  bound 
and  throttled  him,  and  still  rebelled  against  what  was  gone. 
He  could  not  freely  take  what  was  given  him,  but  closed  his 
eyes,  and  shuddered  with  both  desire  and  a  pang  of  conscience. 
He  would  not  look  upon  the  pattern  of  his  web  of  life.  He 
turned  its  texture  around,  and  brooded  over  the  significance 
of  the  intricately  knotted  threads.  And  there  was  no  human 
relationship  which  did  not  rouse  his  suspicion,  no  harmless 
conversation  in  which  he  did  not  seek  a  sting  directed  toward 
himself,  no  face  that  did  not  feed  his  hatred,  no  beauty  whose 
counter  part  of  ugliness  he  did  not  see.  To  him  everything 
turned  to  poison  and  decay,  all  blossoms  became  noxious  weeds, 
all  velvet  a  Nessus  shirt,  all  light  an  evil  smouldering,  every 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  329 

stimulus  a  wound:  on  every  wall  he  saw  the  flaming  letters, 
tnene  tekel  upharsim. 

He  could  not  yield  himself  or  conquer  the  stubbornness  of 
his  heart.  With  the  object  of  his  desire  in  his  very  hands, 
his  envy  burned  on.  Whatever  had  once  humiliated  him 
spurred  his  vengefulness  through  retrospection.  Chastisements 
which  his  father  had  inflicted  distorted  the  old  man's  image 
beyond  the  grave;  his  fellow  pupils  in  the  seminary  had  once 
strewn  pepper  into  his  coffee,  and  he  could  not  forget  it;  he 
could  not  forget  the  expression  on  the  face  of  Adeline  Ribbeck 
with  which  she  had  given  him  his  first  month's  salary  in  a 
closed  envelope;  he  remembered  the  contempt  and  contumely 
of  hundreds,  who  had  inflicted  upon  him  their  revenge  for  the 
oppression  or  degradation  which  they  themselves  had  endured. 
He  could  not  conquer  these  things  nor  forgive  fate.  The  marks 
that  had  been  burned  into  his  flesh  throbbed  like  new  wounds. 

But  at  other  times  he  would  cast  himself  into  the  dust  in 
prayer  and  in  great  need  of  forgiveness.  Religious  scruples 
plagued  him  into  remorse;  he  panted  for  an  hour's  release  from 
consciousness,  judged  himself  with  cruel  severity,  and  con- 
demned himself  to  ascetic  practices. 

And  these  hurled  him  into  the  other  extreme  of  a  wild, 
undiscriminating,  and  senseless  dissipation  and  a  mad  waste 
of  money.  He  could  no  longer  resist  the  excitement  of  gam- 
bling, and  fell  into  the  hands  of  sharpers,  drifted  into  loathsome 
dives,  where  he  acted  the  part  of  a  wealthy  man  and  an 
aristocrat  in  incognito,  for  he  desired  to  test  this  human  mask 
and  prove  its  worthlessness  to  himself.  Since  his  companions 
took  him  seriously  in  this  role,  which  filled  his  own  mind  with 
shame  and  despair,  he  took  his  high  losses  with  apparent  calm, 
and  overlooked  the  open  cheating.  One  evening  the  den  in 
which  he  happened  to  be  was  raided  by  the  police,  and  he 
escaped  by  a  hair's  breadth.  One  creature  clung  to  him,- fright- 
ened him  with  possible  dangers  ahead,  threatened  exposure, 
and  wrung  from  him  a  considerable  sum  of  hush  money. 


330         THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

He  became  the  prey  of  cocottes.  He  bought  them  jewels  and 
frocks  and  instituted  nightly  revels.  In  his  eyes  they  were  out- 
casts that  he  used  as  a  famishing  man  might  slake  his  thirst 
at  a  mud  puddle  with  no  clean  water  within  reach.  And  he 
was  brutally  frank  with  them.  He  paid  them  to  endure  his 
contempt.  They  were  surprised,  resisted  only  his  most  in- 
famous abuses,  and  laughed  at  his  unconquerable  traits  of  the 
churchly  hypocrite.  Once  he  remained  alone  with  a  girl  who 
was  young  and  pretty.  He  had  blindfolded  himself.  But 
suddenly  he  fled  as  though  the  furies  were  at  his  heels. 

Thrice  he  had  set  the  date  for  his  departure  and  as  many 
times  had  put  it  off.  The  image  of  Johanna  had  joined  that  of 
Eva  in  his  soul,  and  both  raged  in  his  brain.  Both  belonged  to 
an  unattainable  world.  Yet  Johanna  seemed  less  alien;  she 
might  conceivably  hear  his  plea.  Eva  and  her  beauty  were  like 
a  strident  jeer  at  all  he  was.  He  had  heard  so  much  and  read 
so  much  of  her  art  that  he  determined  to  await  her  appear- 
ance, in  order  (as  he  told  Christian)  to  form  a  judgment  of  his 
own,  and  be  no  longer  at  the  mercy  of  those  who  fed  her  on 
mere  adulation  and  brazen  flattery. 

The  audience  was  in  full  evening  dress.  Amadeus  sat  next 
to  Christian  in  the  magnificent  and  radiant  hall,  in  which  had 
gathered  royal  and  princely  persons,  the  senators  of  the  free 
city,  the  heads  of  the  official  and  financial  world,  and  repre- 
sentatives of  every  valley  and  city  of  Germany.  Christian 
had  bought  seats  near  the  stage.  Crammon,  who  was  an  ex- 
pert in  matters  of  artistic  perspective,  had  preferred  the  first 
row  in  the  balcony.  With  him  were  Johanna  and  Botho  von 
Thiingen,  to  whom  he  had  emphatically  explained  that  the  play 
of  the  dancer's  feet  and  legs  was  interfered  with  by  the  dark 
line  of  the  stage  below,  while  from  their  present  position  its 
full  harmony  would  be  visible. 

Amadeus  Voss  had  almost  determined  to  remain  rigid  in 
mind.  He  hardly  resisted  actively,  for  he  did  not  expect 
anything  powerful  enough  to  make  resistance  worth  while. 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  331 

He  was  cold,  dull,  unseeing.  Suddenly  there  floated  upon  the 
stage  a  bird-like  vision,  a  being  miraculously  eased  of  human 
heaviness,  one  who  was  all  rhythm,  and  turned  the  rhythm 
of  motion  into  music.  She  broke  the  chains  of  the  soul,  and 
made  every  emotion  an  image,  every  action  a  myth,  every  step 
a  conquest  over  space  and  matter.  But  the  face  of  Amadeus 
seemed  to  say:  How  can  that  serve  me?  How  does  that  serve 
you?  Filled  by  the  fury  of  sex,  he  saw  only  a  scabrous  ex- 
hibition, and  when  the  thunder  of  applause  burst  out,  he 
showed  his  teeth. 

Eva's  last  number  was  a  little  dramatic  episode,  a  charming 
jeu  d' esprit,  which  she  had  invented  and  worked  out,  to  be 
accompanied  by  a  composition  of  Delibes.  It  was  very  simple. 
She  was  Pierrot  playing  with  a  top.  She  regulated  and  guided 
the  whimsical  course  of  the  toy.  In  ever  new  positions,  turns, 
and  rhythms,  she  finally  drove  the  top  toward  a  hole  into 
which  it  disappeared.  But  this  trivial  action  was  so  filled  with 
life  by  the  wealth  and  variety  of  her  rhythmic  gestures,  so 
radiant  with  spirit  and  swiftest  grace,  so  fresh  in  inspiration, 
so  heightened  in  the  perfection  of  its  art,  that  the  audience 
watched  breathlessly,  and  released  its  own  tensity  in  a  fury  of 
applause. 

In  the  foyer  Crammon  rushed  up  to  Christian,  and  drew 
him  through  the  crowd  along  the  dim  passage  way  that  led  back 
of  the  stage.  Amadeus  Voss,  unnoticed  by  Crammon,  followed 
them  unthinkingly  and  morosely.  The  sight  of  the  wings, 
of  cliffs  and  trees,  of  discarded  drops,  electrical  apparatus  and 
pulleys  and  of  the  hurrying  stage-hands,  stirred  in  him  a  dull 
and  hostile  curiosity. 

An  excited  crowd  thronged  toward  Eva's  dressing-room.  She 
sat  in  the  silken  Pierrot  costume  of  black  and  white,  the  dainty 
silver  whip  still  in  her  hand,  amid  a  forest  of  flowers.  Before 
her  kneeled  Johanna  Schontag  with  an  adoring  moisture  in  her 
eyes.  Susan  gave  her  mistress  a  glass  of  cool  champagne. 
Then  in  a  mixture  of  five  or  six  languages  she  tried  to  make  it 


332          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

clear  to  the  unbidden  guests  that  they  were  in  the  way.  But 
each  wanted  a  look,  a  word,  a  smile  of  Eva  for  himself. 

Next  to  the  room  in  which  Eva  sat,  and  separated  from  it  by 
a  thin  partition  with  an  open  door,  was  a  second  dressing-room, 
which  contained  only  her  costumes  and  a  tall  mirror.  Acci- 
dentally pushed  in  that  direction,  and  not  through  any  will  of 
his  own,  Amadeus  Voss  suddenly  found  himself  alone  in  this 
little  chamber.  Having  entered  it,  his  courage  grew,  and  he 
ventured  a  little  farther  in. 

He  looked  around  and  stared  at  the  garments  that  lay  and 
hung  here — the  shimmering  silks,  the  red,  green,  blue,  white, 
and  yellow  shawls  and  veils,  the  fragrant  webs  of  gauze,  batiste, 
and  tulle.  There  were  wholly  transparent  textures  and  the 
heaviest  brocades.  One  frock  glowed  like  pure  gold,  another 
gleamed  like  silver;  one  seemed  made  of  rose-leaves,  another 
knitted  of  spun  glass,  one  of  white  foam  and  one  of  amethyst. 
And  there  stood  dainty  shoes — a  long  row  of  them,  shoes  of 
Morocco  leather  and  of  kid  and  silk;  and  there  were  hose  of 
all  colours,  and  laces  and  ribands  and  antique  beads  and 
brooches.  The  air  was  drenched  with  a  fragrance  that  stung 
his  senses — a  fragrance  of  precious  creams  and  unguents,  of  a 
woman's  skin  and  hair.  His  pulses  throbbed  and  his  face 
turned  grey.  Involuntarily  he  stretched  out  his  hand,  and 
grasped  a  painted  Spanish  shawl.  Angrily,  greedily,  beside 
himself,  he  crushed  it  in  his  hands,  and  buried  his  mouth  and 
nose  in  it  and  trembled  in  every  limb. 

At  that  moment  Susan  Rappard  saw  him,  and  pointed  to  him 
with  a  gesture  of  astonishment.  Eva  saw  him  too,  gently 
thrust  Johanna  aside,  arose,  and  approached  the  threshold. 
When  she  saw  the  man  in  his  strange  and  absorbed  ecstasy,  she 
felt  as  though  she  had  been  spattered  with  filth,  and  uttered 
a  soft,  brief  cry.  Amadeus  Voss  twitched  and  dropped  the 
shawl.  His  eyes  were  wild  and  guilty.  With  a  light  laugh  and 
an  expression  of  transcendent  contempt,  which  summed  up  a 
long  dislike,  Eva  raised  the  little  silver  whip  and  struck  him 


KAREN   ENGELSCHALL  333 

full  in  the  face.  His  features  grew  very  white,  in  a  contor- 
tion of  voluptuousness  and  terror. 

In  the  tense  silence  Christian  went  up  to  Eva,  took  the  silver 
whip  from  her  hand,  and  said  in  a  tone  scarcely  distinguishable 
from  his  habitual  one:  "  Oh,  no,  Eva,  I  shall  not  let  you  do 
that."  He  held  the  handle  of  the  whip  firmly  at  both  ends, 
and  bent  it  until  the  fragile  metal  snapped.  Then  he  threw 
the  two  pieces  on  the  floor. 

They  gazed  at  each  other.  Disgust  at  Amadeus  still  flamed 
in  Eva's  face.  It  yielded  to  her  astonishment  at  Christian's 
temerity.  But  Christian  thought:  "How  beautiful  she  is!  " 
And  he  loved  her.  He  loved  her  in  her  black  and  white  Pierrot's 
costume  with  the  black  velvet  buttons,  he  loved  her  with  that 
little  cap  and  its  impudent  little  tassel  on  her  head;  he  loved 
her,  and  she  seemed  incomparable  to  him,  and  his  blood  cried 
out  after  her  as  in  those  nights  from  which  she  had  driven  him 
forth.  But  he  also  asked  himself:  "  Why  has  she  grown  evil?  " 
And  a  strange  compassion  for  her  stole  over  him,  and  a  stranger 
sense  of  liberation.  And  he  smiled.  But  to  all  who  were 
watching,  this  smile  of  his  seemed  a  little  empty. 

Again  Amadeus  Voss  read  in  the  Scripture:  "What  mean  ye 
that  ye  beat  my  people  to  pieces,  and  grind  the  faces  of  the 
poor?  Because  the  daughters  of  Zion  are  haughty,  and  walk 
with  stretched  forth  necks  and  wanton  eyes,  walking  and 
mincing  as  they  go,  and  making  a  tinkling  with  their  feet: 
Therefore  the  Lord  will  strike  with  a  scab  the  crown  of  the 
head  of  the  daughters  of  Zion,  and  the  Lord  will  discover  their 
secret  parts.  In  that  day  will  the  Lord  take  away  the  bravery 
of  their  tinkling  ornaments  about  their  feet,  and  their  cauls, 
and  their  round  tires  like  the  moon,  the  chains,  and  the 
bracelets,  and  the  mufflers,  the  bonnets,  and  the  ornaments  of 
the  legs,  and  the  headbands,  and  the  tablets,  and  the  earrings, 
the  rings,  and  nose  jewels,  the  changeable  suits  of  apparel,  and 
the  mantles,  and  the  wimples,  and  the  crisping  pins,  the 
glasses,  and  the  fine  linen,  and  the  hoods  and  the  veils.  And  it 


334          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

shall  come  to  pass,  that  instead  of  sweet  smell  there  shall  b§ 
stink;  and  instead  of  a  girdle  a  rent;  and  instead  of  well  set 
hair  baldness;  and  instead  of  a  stomacher  a  girding  of  sack- 
cloth; and  burning  instead  of  beauty.  Thy  men  shall  fall  by 
the  sword,  and  thy  mighty  in  the  war.  And  her  gates  shall 
lament  and  mourn;  and  she  being  desolate  shall  sit  upon  the 
ground." 
On  the  same  evening  he  left  for  Berlin. 

XI 

Lorm  and  Judith  had  a  magnificent  apartment  near  the 
Tiergarten  in  Berlin. 

Edgar  Lorm  flourished.  Order  and  regularity  ruled  his  life. 
With  childlike  boastfulness  he  spoke  of  his  home.  His  manager 
and  friend,  Dr.  Emanuel  Herbst,  congratulated  him  on  his 
visible  rejuvenation. 

He  introduced  to  Judith  the  people  whom  he  had  long 
valued;  but  she  judged  most  of  them  sharply  and  without 
sympathy.  Her  characteristic  arrogance  drove  away  many 
who  meant  well.  But  under  the  sway  of  his  new  comforts 
Lorm  submitted  to  her  opinions. 

But  he  would  not  give  up  Emanuel  Herbst.  When  Judith 
mocked  at  his  waddling  gait,  his  homeliness,  his  piping  voice, 
his  tactless  jokes,  Lorm  grew  serious.  "  I've  known  him  for 
over  twenty  years.  The  things  that  annoy  you  endear  him  to 
me  quite  as  much  as  those  precious  qualities  in  him  which  I 
know  well,  and  which  you've  had  no  chance  to  discover." 

"  No  doubt  he's  a  monster  of  virtue,"  Judith  replied,  "  but 
he  bores  me  to  extinction." 

Lorm  said:  "One  should  get  used  to  the  idea  that  other 
people  don't  exist  exclusively  for  our  pleasure.  Your  point  of 
view  is  too  narrowly  that  of  use  and  luxury.  There  are  human 
qualities  that  I  value  more  highly  than  a  handsome  face  or 
polished  manners.  One  of  these  is  trustworthiness.  People 
with  whom  one  has  professional  dealings  often  refuse  to  honour 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  335 

the  demands  of  common  decency — especially  in  regard  to  the 
keeping  of  their  given  word — with  a  calm  frivolity  that  makes 
one's  gorge  rise.  So  I'm  intensely  grateful  to  Herbst,  since  it 
means  so  infinitely  much  to  me,  for  this — that  our  relations 
have  never  been  shadowed  by  distrust,  and  that  our  simplest 
verbal  agreements  are  as  firm  and  as  valid  as  a  written  con- 
tract." 

Judith  recognized  that  in  this  case  she  would  have  to  change 
her  tactics.  She  was  amiable,  as  though  she  were  convinced 
of  his  virtues,  and  sought  to  gain  his  favour.  Dr.  Herbst  saw 
through  her,  but  showed  no  consciousness  of  his  insight.  He 
treated  her  with  an  elaborate  courtesy  that  seemed  a  trifle  old- 
fashioned,  and  effectually  concealed  his  reservations. 

Sometimes  in  the  evening  she  would  sit  with  the  two  men, 
and  join  in  their  shop  talk  of  playwrights  and  plays,  actors  and 
actresses,  successes  and  failures.  And  while  she  seemed  at- 
tentive, and  even  asked  an  occasional  question,  she  thought  of 
her  dressmaker,  of  her  cook,  of  her  weekly  account,  or  of  her 
old  life,  that  was  so  different  and  had  perished  so  utterly. 
And  her  eyes  would  grow  hard. 

It  would  happen  that  she  would  pass  through  the  rooms 
with  a  bitter  expression  on  her  face  and  a  hostile  glance  for 
the  things  about  her.  She  hated  the  many  mirrors  which  Lorm 
required,  the  rugs  that  had  been  recently  bought,  the  pre- 
tentious furniture  and  paintings,  the  countless  bibelots,  photo- 
graphs, ornaments,  books,  and  piously  guarded  souvenirs. 

She  had  never  before  lived  in  a  house  where  other  tenants 
above  and  below  reminded  her  of  their  repulsive  and  unfamiliar 
lives.  She  listened  to  the  slightest  noises,  and  felt  that  she  had 
fallen  into  a  slum. 

It  was  hardly  in  harmony  with  her  nature  to  wait  each 
morning  until  her  husband  happened  to  rise,  to  see  that  the 
breakfast  was  complete,  to  stand  aside  while  the  barber,  the 
masseur,  the  chauffeur,  the  messenger  of  the  'theatre,  and  the 
secretary  had  completed  their  tasks  or  received  their  instruc- 


336          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

tions;  to  wait  again  until  he  returned  from  rehearsal,  tired, 
annoyed,  and  hungry,  and  then  to  watch  him  at  luncheon — a 
meal  that  he  required  to  be  both  rich  and  exquisite — gobble  his 
food ;  to  guard  him  from  noise  and  interruption  when  he  memo- 
rized his  lines;  to  answer  strange  voices  on  the  telephone,  to 
give  information,  refuse  invitations,  to  send  the  troublesome 
away  and  to  soothe  the  impatient.  She  was  wholly  out  of  her 
natural  element,  but  she  forced  herself  to  endure  even  as 
she  had  endured  bodily  pain  when  the  long  needle  had  been 
thrust  through  her  arm. 

Emanuel  Herbst,  who  was  a  keen  observer  and  a  learned 
student  of  human  nature,  quietly  analysed  the  relations  of  this 
husband  and  this  wife.  He  said  to  himself:  "  Lorm  is  not  ful- 
filling her  expectations;  so  much  is  clear.  She  fancied  she 
could  peel  him  the  way  one  peels  an  onion,  and  that  the  removal 
of  each  layer  would  reveal  something  so  new  and  surprising  as 
to  make  up  to  her  for  all  she  has  renounced.  She  will  soon 
discover  her  miscalculation,  for  Lorm  is  always  the  same.  He 
can't  be  stripped.  He  wears  his  costumes  and  puts  on  make-up. 
She  will  soon  reproach  him  for  this  very  ability  to  fill  empty 
forms  with  a  beautiful  content,  and  to  remain,  in  his  own 
person,  but  a  humble  servitor  of  his  art.  And  the  more  guilty 
he  becomes  in  her  eyes,  the  more  power  over  him  will  she  gain. 
For  he  is  tired — tired  to  death  of  the  affected,  the  flatterers  and 
sentimentalists,  of  the  sweets  and  easements  of  his  daily  life. 
Terribly  spoiled  as  he  is,  he  yearns  unconsciously  for  chains  and 
a  keeper." 

The  result  of  his  reflection  filled  Emanuel  Herbst  with 
anxious  apprehension. 

But  Judith  remembered  her  dream — how  she  had  lain  beside 
a  fish  because  it  pleased  her,  and  then  beaten  it  in  sudden  rage 
over  its  cool,  moist,  slippery,  opalescent  scales.  And  she  lay 
beside  the  fish  and  struck  it,  and  the  fish  became  more  and 
more  subservient  and  her  own. 

Her  constant  terror  was  this  thought:  "  I  am  poor,  impover- 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  337 

ished,  dependent,  without  security."  The  thought  tormented 
her  to  such  a  degree  that  she  once  expressed  it  to  the  house- 
keeper. The  latter  was  astonished  and  replied:  "  But  in  addi- 
tion to  your  pin  money,  the  master  gives  you  two  thousand 
marks  a  month  for  the  house.  Why  should  you  yield  to  morbid 
fancies?  " 

Judith  looked  at  the  woman  suspiciously.  She  distrusted  all 
whom  she  paid.  The  moment  they  mentioned  money  she 
fancied  herself  robbed. 

One  day  the  cook  gave  notice.  She  was  the  fourth  since  the 
establishment  of  the  household.  A  quantity  of  sugar  was  miss- 
ing. There  was  a  quarrel,  an  ugly  one,  and  Judith  was  told 
things  that  no  one  had  ever  dared  to  tell  her  before. 

The  secretary  mislaid  a  key.  When  at  last  it  was  found 
Judith  rushed  to  the  drawer  which  it  fitted  to  see  whether  the 
stationery,  the  pencils,  and  the  pen-points  were  intact. 

The  housekeeper  had  bought  twenty  yards  of  linen.  Judith 
thought  the  price  paid  too  high.  She  drove  to  the  shop  her- 
self. The  taxi-fare  amounted  to  more  than  she  could  pos- 
sibly have  saved  on  the  purchase.  Then  she  chaffered  with 
the  clerk  for  a  reduction,  until  it  was  granted  her  through  sheer 
weariness.  She  told  Lorm  the  story  with  a  triumphant  air.  He 
neglected  to  praise  her.  She  jumped  up  from  the  table,  locked 
herself  in  her  room,  and  went  to  bed.  Whenever  she  thought 
that  she  had  some  reason  for  anger,  she  went  to  bed. 

Lorm  came  to  her  door,  knocked  softly,  and  asked  her  to 
open  it.  She  let  him  stand  long  enough  to  regret  his  conduct, 
and  then  opened  the  door.  She  told  her  story  all  over,  and  he 
listened  with  a  charming  curiosity  on  his  face.  "  You're  a 
jewel,"  he  said,  and  stroked  her  cheek  and  hand. 

But  it  would  also  happen,  if  she  really  wanted  something, 
that  she  would  spend  sums  out  of  all  proportion  to  her  wretched 
little  economies.  She  would  see  a  hat,  a  frock,  an  ornament  in 
a  show  window,  and  not  be  able  to  tear  herself  away.  Then  she 
would  go  into  the  shop,  and  pay  the  price  asked  at  once. 


338          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

One  day  she  visited  an  auction  sale,  and  happened  to  come 
in  just  as  an  old  Viennese  bon-bon  dish  was  offered  for  sale. 
It  was  one  of  those  objects  that  make  little  show,  but  which 
delight  the  collector's  heart.  At  first  the  dish  didn't  tempt  her 
at  all.  Then  the  high  bidding  for  it  excited  her,  and  she  her- 
self began  to  bid  for  it.  It  kindled  something  in  her,  and  she 
made  bid  after  bid,  and  drove  all  competitors  from  the  field. 

Hot  and  excited,  she  came  home  and  rushed  into  Lorm's 
study.  Emanuel  Herbst  was  with  him.  The  two  men  sat 
by  the  fire  in  familiar  talk.  Judith  disregarded  Herbst.  She 
stood  before  her  husband,  unwrapped  the  dish,  and  said:  "  Look 
at  this  exquisite  thing  I  bought,  Edgar." 

It  was  toward  evening,  but  no  lights  had  been  lit.  Lorm 
loved  the  twilight  and  the  flicker  of  the  fire  in  his  chimney, 
which  was,  alas,  only  a  metropolitan  imitation  of  a  log  fire. 
In  the  rich,  red,  wavering  reflection  of  the  glow,  Judith  looked 
charming  in  her  delight  and  mobility. 

Lorm  took  the  dish,  regarded  it  with  polite  interest,  drew  up 
his  lips  a  little,  and  said:  "  It's  pretty."  Herbst's  face  puckered 
into  innumerable  ironical  little  wrinkles. 

Judith  grew  angry.  "  Pretty?  Don't  you  see  that  it's  magi- 
cal, a  perfect  little  dream,  the  sweetest  and  rarest  thing  imagin- 
able? The  connoisseurs  were  wild  after  it!  Do  you  know 
what  it  cost?  Eighteen  hundred  marks.  And  I  had  six  or 
seven  rabid  competitors  bidding  against  me.  Pretty!  "  She 
gave  a  hard  little  laugh.  "  Give  it  to  me.  You  handle  it  too 
clumsily." 

"  Calm  yourself,  sweetheart,"  said  Lorm  gently.  "  I  suppose 
its  virtues  are  subtle." 

But  Judith  was  hurt,  more  by  Herbst's  silent  mockery  than 
by  Lorm's  lack  of  appreciation.  She  threw  back  her  head, 
rustled  through  the  room,  and  slammed  the  door  behind  her. 
When  she  was  angry,  her  own  manners  had,  at  times,  a  touch 
of  commonness. 

For  a  while  the  two  men  were  silent.    Then  Lorm,  embar- 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  339 

rassed  aud  with  a>  deprecating  smile,  said:  "  A  little  dream 
.  .  .  for  eighteen  hundred  marks.  .  .  .  Oh,  well!  There's 
something  childlike  about  her." 

Emanuel  Herbst  rubbed  his  tongue  up  and  down  between  his 
teeth  and  his  upper  lip.  It  made  him  look  like  an  ancient  baby. 
Then  he  ventured:  "  You  ought  to  make  it  clear  to  her  that 
eighteen  hundred  marks  are  one  thousand  eight  hundred  times 
one  mark." 

"  She  won't  get  that  far,"  answered  Lorm.  "  Somebody  who 
has  always  lived  on  the  open  sea,  and  is  suddenly  transported 
to  a  little  inland  lake,  finds  it  hard  to  get  the  new  measure- 
ments and  perspectives.  But  women  are  queer  creatures."  He 
sighed  and  smiled.  "  Have  a  nip  of  whiskey,  old  man?  " 

Sorrowfully  Herbst  rocked  his  Caesarean  head.  "  Why 
queer?  They  are  as  they  are,  and  one  must  treat  them  accord- 
ingly. Only  one  mustn't  be  under  any  mistaken  impression 
as  to  what  one  has.  For  instance:  A  horseshoe  is  not  birch 
wood.  It  looks  like  a  bow,  but  you  can't  bend  it — not  with  all 
your  might.  If  you  string  it,  the  string  droops  slackly  and  will 
never  propel  your  arrow.  All  right,  let's  have  your  whiskey." 

"  But  occasionally,"  Lorm  replied  cheerfully,  and  filled  the 
tiny  glasses,  "  you  can  turn  a  horseshoe  into  the  finest 
Damascene  steel." 

"  Bravo!  A  good  retort!  You're  as  ready  as  Cardinal 
Richelieu.  Your  health!  " 

"  If  you'll  let  me  be  Richelieu,  111  appoint  you  to  be  my 
Father  Joseph.  A  great  role,  by  the  way.  Your  health,  old 
man!  " 

XII 

Crammon  and  Johanna  Schontag  planned  to  drive  to  Stel- 
lingen  to  see  Hagenbeck's  famous  zoological  gardens,  and  Cram- 
mon begged  Christian  to  lend  them  his  car.  They  were  just 
about  to  start  when  Christian  issued  from  the  hotel.  "  Why 
don't  you  come  along?  "  Crammon  asked.  "  Have  you  any- 


340          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

thing  better  to  do?  The  three  of  us  can  have  a  very  amusing 
time." 

Christian  was  about  to  refuse,  when  he  caught  Johanna's 
urgent  and  beseeching  look.  She  had  the  art  of  putting  her 
wishes  into  her  eyes  in  such  a  way  that  one  was  drawn  by  them 
and  lost  the  power  to  resist.  So  he  said:  "  Very  well,  I'll  come 
along,"  and  took  the  seat  next  to  Johanna's.  But  he  was 
silent  on  the  whole  drive. 

It  was  a  sunny  day  of  October. 

They  wandered  through  the  park,  and  Johanna  made  droll 
comments  on  the  animals.  She  stopped  in  front  of  a  seal, 
and  exclaimed:  "  He  looks  quite  like  Herr  Livholm,  don't  you 
think  so?  "  She  talked  to  a  bear  as  though  he  were  a  simple 
sort  of  man,  and  fed  him  bits  of  sugar.  She  said  that  the 
camels  were  incredible,  and  only  pretended  to  look  that  way  to 
live  up  to  the  descriptions  in  the  books  of  natural  history. 
"  They're  almost  as  ugly  as  I  am,"  she  added;  "and  then,  with 
a  crooked  smile:  "  Only  more  useful.  At  least  I  was  told  at 
school  that  their  stomachs  are  reservoirs  of  water.  Isn't  the 
world  a  queer  place?  " 

Christian  wondered  why  she  spoke  so  contemptuously  of 
herself.  She  bent  over  a  stone  balustrade,  and  the  sight  of  her 
neck  somehow  touched  him.  She  seemed  to  him  a  vessel  of 
poor  and  hurt  things. 

Crammon  discoursed.  "  It  is  very  curious  about  animals. 
Scientists  declare  they  have  a  great  deal  of  instinct.  But  what 
is  instinct?  I've  usually  found  them  to  be  of  an  unlimited 
stupidity.  On  the  estate  where  I  passed  my  childhood,  we 
had  a  horse,  a  fat,  timid,  gentle  horse.  It  had  but  one  vice: 
it  was  very  ticklish.  I  and  my  playmates  were  strictly  en- 
joined from  tickling  it.  Naturally  we  were  constantly  tempted 
to  tickle  it.  There  were  five  of  us  little  fellows — no  higher 
than  table  legs.  Each  procured  a  little  felt  hat  with  a  cock's 
feather  in  it.  And  as  the  horse  stood  dull-eyed  in  front  of  the 
stable,  we  marched  in  single  file  under  the  belly  of  the  stupid 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  341 

beast,  tickling  it  with  our  feathers  as  we  passed.  The  feathers 
tickled  so  frightfully  that  he  kicked  with  all  fours  like  a  mule. 
It's  a  riddle  to  me  to  this  day  how  one  of  us,  at  least,  failed  to 
be  killed.  But  it  was  amusing  and  grotesque,  and  there  was  no 
sign  of  instinct  anywhere." 

They  went  to  the  monkey  house.  A  crowd  stood  about  a 
little  platform,  on  which  a  dainty  little  monkey  was  showing 
off  its  tricks  under  the  guidance  of  a  trainer.  "  I  have  a  horror 
of  monkeys,"  said  Crammon.  "  They  annoy  me  through  mem- 
ory. Science  bids  me  feel  a  relationship  with  them;  but  after 
all  one  has  one's  pride.  No,  I  don't  acknowledge  this  devilish 
atavism."  He  turned  around,  and  left  the  building  in  order  to 
wait  outside. 

Alone  with  Christian,  a  wave  of  courage  conquered  Johanna's 
timidity.  She  took  Christian's  arm  and  drew  him  nearer  to 
the  platform.  She  was  utterly  charmed,  and  her  delight  was 
childlike.  "  How  dear,  how  sweet,  how  humble!  "  she  cried. 
A  spiritual  warmth  came  from  her  to  Christian.  He  yielded 
himself  to  it,  for  he  needed  it.  Her  boyish  voice,  however, 
stirred  his  senses  and  aroused  his  fear.  She  stood  very  close 
by  him;  he  felt  her  quiver,  the  response  to  the  hidden  erotic 
power  that  was  in  him,  and  the  other  voices  of  his  soul  were 
silenced. 

He  took  her  hand  into  his.  She  did  not  struggle,  but  a  pain- 
ful tension  showed  in  her  face. 

Suddenly  the  little  monkey  stopped  in  its  droll  performance 
and  turned  its  lightless  little  eyes  in  terror  toward  the  spec- 
tators. Some  shy  perception  had  frightened  it;  it  seemed, 
somehow,  to  think  and  to  recollect  itself.  As  it  became  aware  of 
the  many  faces,  the  indistinctness  of  its  vision  seemed  to  take 
on  outline  and  form.  Perhaps  for  a  second  it  had  a  sight  of  the 
world  and  of  men,  and  that  sight  was  to  it  a  source  of  bound- 
less horror.  It  trembled  as  in  a  fever;  it  uttered  a  piercing  cry 
of  lamentation;  it  fled,  and  when  the  trainer  tried  to  grasp  it, 
it  leaped  from  the  platform  and  frantically  sought  a  hiding- 


342          THE    WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

place.  Tears  glittered  in  its  eyes  and  its  teeth  chattered,  and 
in  spite  of  the  animal  characteritsics  of  these  gestures  and 
expressions,  there  was  in  them  something  so  human  and  soulful 
that  only  a  few  very  coarse  people  ventured  to  laugh. 

To  Christian  there  came  from  the  little  beast  a  breath  from 
an  alien  region  of  earth  and  forests  and  loneliness.  His  heart 
seemed  to  expand  and  then  to  contract.  "  Let  us  go,"  he  said, 
and  his  own  voice  sounded  unpleasantly  in  his  ears. 

Johanna  listened  to  his  words.  She  was  all  willingness  to 
listen,  all  tension  and  all  sweet  humility. 


XIII 

Randolph  von  Stettner  had  arrived.  There  were  still  several 
days  before  the  date  of  his  sailing,  and  he  was  on  his  way  to 
Liibeck,  where  he  wished  to  say  good-bye  to  a  married  sister. 
Christian  hesitated  to  promise  to  be  in  Hamburg  on  his 
friend's  return.  Only  after  much  urging  did  he  consent  to 
stay. 

They  dined  in  Christian's  room,  discussed  conditions  in  their 
native  province,  and  exchanged  reminiscences.  Christian, 
laconic  as  usual,  was  silently  amazed  at  the  distance  of  all 
these  things  from  his  present  self. 

When  the  waiter  had  removed  the  dishes,  Stettner  gave  an 
account  of  all  that  had  driven  him  to  the  determination  to 
expatriate  himself.  While  he  talked  he  stared  with  an  un- 
changing look  and  expression  at  the  table  cover. 

"  You  know  that  for  some  years  I've  not  been  comfortable  in 
my  uniform.  I  saw  no  aim  ahead  except  the  slow  and  distant 
moments  of  advancement.  Some  of  my  comrades  hoped  for 
war.  Well,  the  life  makes  that  hope  natural.  In  war  one  can 
prove  one's  self  in  the  only  way  that  has  any  meaning  to  a  pro- 
fessional soldier  in  any  army.  But  personally  I  couldn't  share 
that  hope.  Others  marry  money,  still  others  go  in  for  sports 
and  gambling.  None  of  these  things  attracted  me.  The  service 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  343 

itself  left  me  utterly  dissatisfied.  I  seemed  to  myself  in  reality 
an  idler  who  lives  pretentiously  on  others. 

"  Imagine  this:  you  stand  in  the  barracks  yard;  it's  raining, 
the  water  makes  the  sand  gleam;  the  few  wretched  trees  drip 
and  drip;  the  men  await  some  command  with  the  watchfulness 
of  well-trained  dogs;  the  water  pours  from  their  packs,  the 
sergeant  roars,  the  corporals  grit  their  teeth  in  zeal  and  rage; 
but  you?  With  a  monotony  like  that  of  the  drops  that  trickle 
from  your  cap,  you  think:  '  What  will  to-night  be  like?  And 
to-morrow  morning?  And  to-morrow  night?  '  And  the  whole 
year  lies  ahead  of  you  like  a  soaked  and  muddy  road.  You 
think  of  your  desolate  room  with  its  three  dozen  books,  the 
meaningless  pictures,  and  the  carpet  worn  thin  by  many  feet; 
you  think  of  the  report  you've  got  to  hand  in,  and  the  canteen 
accounts  you've  got  to  audit,  and  the  stable  inspection,  and  the 
next  regimental  ball,  where  the  arrogant  wives  of  your  superior 
officers  will  bore  you  to  the  point  of  illness  with  their  shallow 
talk;  you  think  your  way  through  the  whole  circle  of  your 
life,  and  find  nothing  but  what  is  trivial  and  cheerless  as  a 
rainy  day.  Is  that  endurable? 

"  One  day  I  put  the  question  to  myself:  What  was  I  really 
accomplishing,  and  what  was  the  nature  of  my  reward?  The 
answer  was  that,  from  a  human  and  intellectual  point  of  view, 
my  accomplishment  was  an  absolute  zero.  My  reward  con- 
sisted of  a  number  of  privileges,  the  sum  of  which  raised  me 
very  high  in  the  social  scale,  but  gave  me  this  position  only  at 
the  cost  of  surrendering  my  personality  wholly.  I  had  to 
obey  my  superiors  and  to  command  my  inferiors.  That  was 
all.  The  power  to  command  was  conditioned  in  the  duty  to 
obey.  And  each  man  in  the  service,  whatever  his  station,  is 
bound  in  the  identical  way,  and  is  simply  a  connective  appara- 
tus in  a  great  electrical  circuit.  Only  the  humblest,  the  great 
mass  of  privates,  were  confined  to  obedience.  The  ultimate 
responsibility  at  the  very  top  was  lost  in  the  vague.  In  spite 
of  its  ultimate  primitiveness,  the  structure  of  every  military 


344          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

organization  has  a  mystery  at  its  core.  But  between  the 
arbitrary  will  of  a  very  few  and  the  touching  and  incompre- 
hensible humility  of  the  great  mass,  the  parts  function  accord- 
ing to  iron  laws.  Whoever  refuses  to  function,  or  rebels,  is 
crushed. 

"  There  are  those  who  assert  that  this  compulsion  has  a 
moral  effect  and  subserves  a  higher  conception  of  freedom. 
I  was  myself  of  that  opinion  for  a  long  time;  but  I  did  not  find 
it  permanently  tenable.  I  felt  myself  weakening,  and  a  rebel- 
lion seething  in  my  blood.  I  pulled  myself  together,  and  fought 
against  criticism  and  doubt.  In  vain.  Something  had  gone 
out  of  me.  I  lost  the  readiness  to  obey  and  the  security  to 
command.  It  was  torment.  Above  me  I  saw  implacable  idols, 
below  me  defenceless  victims.  I  myself  was  both  idol  and 
victim,  implacable  and  defenceless  at  once.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  humanity  ceased  where  the  circle  of  my  activity  began.  My 
life  seemed  to  me  no  longer  a  part  of  the  general  life  of  man- 
kind, but  a  fossilized  petrefaction  conditioned  in  certain  formu- 
lae of  command  and  obedience. 

"  This  condition  could,  of  course,  not  remain  hidden.  My 
comrades  withdrew  their  confidence  from  me.  I  was  observed 
and  distrusted.  Before  I  had  time  to  clarify  either  my  mind 
or  my  affairs,  an  incident  occurred  which  forced  me  to  a 
decision.  A  fellow  officer  in  my  regiment,  Captain  von  Otto, 
was  engaged  to  the  daughter  of  an  eminent  judge.  The  wed- 
ding, although  the  date  had  been  set,  could  not  take  place. 
Otto  had  a  slight  attack  of  pulmonary  trouble  and  had  to  go 
South  for  cure.  About  four  weeks  after  his  departure,  there 
was  a  celebration  in  honour  of  the  emperor's  birthday,  and 
among  the  ladies  invited  was  the  captain's  betrothed.  Every- 
body was  rather  gay  and  giddy  that  evening,  especially  a  dear 
friend  of  mine,  Georg  Mattershausen,  a  sincere,  kindly  chap 
who  had  just  received  a  promotion  in  rank.  The  captain's 
betrothed,  who  had  been  his  neighbour  at  table,  was  infected 
by  his  merriment,  and  on  the  way  home  he  begged  her  for  a 


•      KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  345 

kiss.  She  refused,  and  he  was  going  to  steal  one.  She  now 
grew  very  serious;  he  at  once  came  to  his  senses,  apologized 
with  the  utmost  sincerity,  and,  at  the  very  door  of  her  paternal 
house,  received  her  solemn  promise  to  mention  the  incident 
to  no  one.  When,  however,  seventeen  weeks  later,  Captain 
von  Otto  returned,  the  girl  was  seized  by  some  queer  scruple, 
and  thought  it  her  duty  to  tell  him  of  the  incident  between  her- 
self and  Mattershausen.  The  result  was  a  challenge.  The 
conditions  were  extraordinarily  severe:  ten  paces  distance, 
drawn  revolvers,  half  a  minute  to  aim,  exchange  of  shots  to 
the  disablement  of  either  combatant.  I  was  Mattershausen's 
second.  Otto,  who  had  held  himself  to  be  affronted  and  had 
sent  the  challenge,  had  the  first  shot.  He  aimed  carefully  at 
the  head  of  his  adversary.  I  saw  that.  But  the  bullet  whistled 
past  my  friend's  ear.  Mattershausen  aimed,  but  his  revolver 
did  not  go  off.  This  was  counted  a  shot.  New  pistols  were 
brought.  Otto  aimed  as  carefully  as  before  and  this  time  shot 
Mattershausen  straight  through  the  heart.  Death  was  im- 
mediate. 

'•  I  wonder  whether  you,  too,  think  that  that  was  a  harsh 
punishment  for  a  moment  of  youthful  thoughtlessness  and  im- 
propriety. To  me  it  seemed  terribly  harsh.  I  felt  profoundly 
that  a  crime  had  been  committed  against  my  friend.  Our 
fossilized  caste  had  perpetrated  a  murder.  Two  days  later, 
in  the  officers'  mess,  I  expressed  this  opinion  quite  frankly. 
There  was  general  astonishment.  One  or  two  sharp  replies  were 
made.  Some  one  asked  me  what  I  would  have  done  in  such 
a  situation.  I  answered  that  I  would  certainly  not  have  sent 
a  challenge,  that  I  could  never  approve  a  notion  of  honour  so 
morbid  and  self-centred  as  to  demand  a  human  life  for  a 
trifle.  Even  if  the  young  girl's  over-tender  conscience  had  per- 
suaded her  to  break  her  promise,  I  would  have  caused  no 
further  trouble,  and  let  the  little  incident  glide  into  forgetful- 
ness.  At  that  there  was  general  indignation — a  great  shaking 
of  heads,  angry  or  troubled  faces,  an  exchange  of  significant 


346          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

glances.  But  I  kept  on.  Mattershausen's  wretched  end  had 
hit  me  damned  hard,  and  I  relieved  my  whole  mind.  So  I 
added  that,  if  I  had  been  in  Mattershausen's  place,  I  would 
have  refused  the  challenge,  quite  regardless  of  consequences. 
That  statement  fell  among  them  like  a  bomb,  and  a  painful 
silence  followed.  '  I  imagine  you  would  have  reconsidered,' 
said  the  ranking  major,  '  I  don't  think  you  would  have  disre- 
garded all  the  consequences.'  '  All,'  I  insisted, '  certainly,  all!  ' 
At  that  moment  Captain  von  Otto,  who  had  been  sitting  at 
another  table,  arose,  and  asked  frostily:  'You  would  have 
risked  the  odium  of  cowardice?  '  I  too  arose,  and  answered: 
'  Under  such  circumstances  I  would  have  risked  that  too.' 
Captain  von  Otto  smiled  a  contorted  smile,  and  said  with  an 
emphasis  that  could  not  be  misinterpreted:  'Then  I  don't 
understand  your  sitting  at  the  same  table  with  officers  of  His 
Majesty.'  He  bowed  stiffly,  and  went  out. 

"  The  die  had  been  cast.  No  one  was  curious  as  to  what 
I  would  do ;  no  one  doubted  but  that  there  was  only  one  thing 
left  for  me  to  do.  But  I  was  determined  to  push  the  matter  to 
its  logical  conclusion.  That  super-idol,  known  as  the  code  of 
honour,  had  issued  its  decree;  but  I  was  determined  to  refuse 
obedience  and  take  the  consequences  upon  myself.  That  very 
evening,  when  I  came  home,  two  comrades  were  awaiting  me 
to  offer  me  their  services.  I  refused  courteously.  They  looked 
at  me  as  though  I  had  gone  mad,  and  went  off  in  absurd  haste. 

"  The  inevitable  consequences  followed.  You  can  under- 
stand that  I  could  no  longer  breathe  in  that  air.  You  cannot 
outrage  the  fetishes  of  your  social  group  and  go  unpunished. 
I  had  to  avoid  insult,  and  learned  what  it  was  to  be  an  outcast. 
And  that  is  bad.  The  imagination  alone  cannot  quite  grasp  the 
full  horror  of  it.  I  saw  clearly  that  there  was  no  place  left  for 
me  in  my  fatherland.  The  way  out  was  obvious." 

Christian  had  listened  to  his  friend's  story  with  unmoved 
countenance.  He  got  up,  took  a  few  turns  through  the  room, 
and  returned  to  his  seat.  Then  he  said:  "  I  think  you  did  the 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  347 

right  thing.    I  am  sorry  you  must  leave  us,  but  you  did 
right." 

Stettner  looked  up.  How  strange  that  sounded:  You  did 
right.  A  question  hovered  on  his  lips.  But  it  was  not  uttered. 
For  Christian  feared  that  question,  and  silenced  it  by  a  sudden 
conventionality  of  demeanour. 

xrv 

Christian,  the  brothers  Maelbeek,  who  had  followed  Eva 
from  Holland,  Botho  von  Thiingen,  a  Russian  councillor  of 
state  named  Koch,  and  Crammon  sat  at  luncheon  in  the  dining 
hall  of  the  hotel. 

They  were  talking  about  a  woman  of  the  streets  who  had 
been  murdered.  The  police  had  already  caught  the  murderer. 
He  was  a  man  who  had  once  belonged  to  good  society,  but  had 
gradually  gone  to  the  dogs.  He  had  throttled  the  woman  and 
robbed  her  in  a  sailor's  tavern. 

Now  all  the  prostitutes  in  the  city  had  unanimously  de- 
termined to  show  their  sister,  who  had  sacrificed  her  life  to  her 
calling,  a  last  and  very  public  mark  of  respect,  and  to  follow  her 
coffin  to  the  grave.  The  respectable  citizens  of  Hamburg  felt 
this  to  be  a  sort  of  challenge  and  protested.  But  there  was  no 
legal  provision  by  which  the  demonstration  could  be  stopped. 

"  We  ought  to  see  the  spectacle,"  said  Crammon,  "  even  if  we 
have  to  sacrifice  our  siesta." 

"  Then  there's  no  time  to  be  lost,"  the  elder  Maelbeek  de- 
clared, and  looked  at  his  watch.  "  The  friends  will  assemble 
at  the  house  of  mourning  at  three  sharp."  He  smiled,  and 
thought  this  way  of  putting  the  matter  rather  witty. 

Christian  said  that  he  would  go  too.  The  motor  took  them  to 
a  crossing  that  had  been  closed  by  the  police.  Here  they  left 
the  car,  and  Herr  von  Thiingen  persuaded  the  police  captain  to 
let  them  pass. 

They  were  at  once  surrounded  by  a  great  throng  of  humble 
folk — sailors,  fishermen,  workingmen,  women,  and  children. 


348          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

The  windows  of  the  houses  were  thronged  with  heads.  The 
Maelbeeks  and  Koch  stopped  here,  and  called  Thiingen  to  join 
them.  Christian  walked  farther.  Somehow  the  behaviour  of  his 
companions  irritated  him.  He  felt  the  kind  of  curiosity  which 
filled  them  as  something  disagreeable.  He  was  curious  too, 
but  in  another  way.  Or,  at  least,  it  seemed  different  to  him. 

Crammon  remained  by  his  side. .  But  the  throng  grew  rowdy. 
"  Where  are  you  going?  "  Crammon  asked  peevishly.  "  There 
is  no  use  in  going  farther.  Let  us  wait  here." 

Christian  shook  his  head. 

"  Very  well.  I  take  my  stand  here,"  Crammon  decided,  and 
separated  from  Christian. 

The  latter  made  his  way  up  to  the  dirty,  old  house  at  the 
door  of  which  the  hearse  was  standing.  It  was  a  foggy  day. 
The  black  wagon  was  like  a  dark  hole  punched  into  the  grey. 
Christian  wanted  to  go  a  little  farther,  but  some  young  fellows 
purposely  blocked  his  way.  They  turned  their  heads,  looked 
him  over,  and  suspected  him  of  being  a  "  toff."  Their  own 
garb  was  cheap  and  flashy;  their  faces  and  gestures  made  it 
clear  what  trade  they  drove.  One  of  them  was  a  young  giant. 
He  was  half  a  head  taller  than  Christian,  and  his  brows  joined 
over  the  bridge  of  his  nose.  On  the  index  ringer  of  his  left 
hand  he  wore  a  huge  carnelian  ring. 

Christian  looked  about  him  quite  unintimidated.  He  saw 
hundreds  of  women,  literally  hundreds,  ranging  in  age  from 
sixteen  to  fifty,  and  in  condition  from  bloom  to  utter  decay,  and 
from  luxury  to  rags  and  filth. 

They  had  all  gathered — those  who  had  passed  the  zenith  of 
their  troubled  course,  and  those  who  had  barely  emerged  from 
childhood,  frivolous,  sanguine,  vain,  and  already  tainted  with 
the  mire  of  the  great  city.  They  had  come  from  all  streets; 
they  were  recruited  from  all  nations  and  all  classes ;  some  had 
escaped  from  a  sheltered  youth,  others  had  risen  from  even 
direr  depths;  there  were  those  who  felt  themselves  pariahs 
and  had  the  outcast's  hatred  in  their  eyes,  and  there  were  others 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  349 

who  showed  a  certain  pride  in  their  calling  and  held  themselves 
aloof.  He  saw  cynical  and  careworn  faces,  lovely  and  hardened 
ones,  indifferent  and  troubled,  greedy  and  gentle  faces.  Some 
were  painted  and  some  pallid ;  and  the  latter  seemed  strangely 
naked. 

He  was  familiar  with  them  from  the  streets  and  houses  of 
many  cities,  as  every  man  is.  He  knew  the  type,  the  unfailing 
stamp,  the  acquired  gesture  and  look — this  hard,  rigid,  dull, 
clinging,  lightless  look.  But  he  had  never  before  seen  them 
except  when  they  were  exercising  their  function  behind  the 
gates  of  their  calling,  dissembling  their  real  selves  and  under 
the  curse  of  sex.  To  see  many  hundreds  of  them  separated 
from  all  that,  to  see  them  as  human  beings  stripped  of  the 
stimulus  and  breath  of  a  turbid  sexuality — that  was  what 
seemed  to  sweep  a  cloud  from  his  eyes. 

Suddenly  he  thought:  "  I  must  order  my  hunting  lodge  to  be 
sold,  and  the  hounds  too." 

The  coffin  was  being  carried  from  the  house.  It  was  covered 
with  flowers  and  wreaths;  and  from  the  wreaths  fluttered  ri- 
bands with  gilt  inscriptions.  Christian  tried  to  read  the  in- 
scriptions, but  it  was  impossible.  The  coffin  had  small,  silver- 
plated  feet  that  looked  like  the  paws  of  a  cat.  By  some  acci- 
dent one  of  these  had  been  broken  off,  and  that  touched  Chris- 
tian, he  hardly  knew  why,  as  unbearably  pitiful.  An  old 
woman  followed  the  coffin.  She  seemed  more  vexed  and  angry 
than  grief-stricken.  She  wore  a  black  dress,  but  the  seam  under 
one  arm  was  ripped  open.  And  that  too  seemed  unbearably 
pitiful. 

The  hearse  started  off.  Six  men  carrying  lighted  candles 
walked  in  front  of  it.  The  murmur  of  voices  became  silent.  The 
women,  walking  by  fours,  followed  the  hearse.  Christian  stood 
still  close  pressed  against  a  wall,  and  let  the  procession  pass 
him  by.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  street  was  quite  desolate. 
The  windows  of  the  houses  were  closed.  He  remained  alone  in 
the  street,  in  the  fog. 


350          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

As  he  walked  away  he  reflected:  "  I've  asked  my  father  to 
take  care  of  my  collection  of  rings.  There  are  over  four 
thousand  of  them,  and  many  are  beautiful  and  costly.  They 
could  be  sold  too.  I  don't  need  them.  I  shall  have  them  sold." 

He  wandered  on  and  on,  and  lost  all  sense  of  the  passing  of 
time.  Evening  came,  and  the  city  lights  glowed  through  the 
fog.  Everything  became  moist,  even  to  the  gloves  on  his  hands. 

He  thought  of  the  missing  foot  on  the  coffin  of  the  murdered 
harlot,  and  of  the  torn  seam  of  the  old  woman's  dress. 

He  passed  over  one  of  the  great  bridges  of  the  Elbe,  and 
then  walked  along  the  river  bank.  It  was  a  desolate  region. 
He  stopped  near  the  light  of  a  street  lamp,  gazed  into  the 
water,  drew  forth  his  wallet,  took  out  a  bank  note  of  a  hundred 
marks,  turned  it  about  in  his  hands,  shook  his  head,  and  then, 
with  a  gesture  of  disgust,  threw  it  into  the  water.  He  took  a 
second  and  did  the  same.  There  were  twenty  bank  notes  in  his 
wallet.  He  took  them  out  one  by  one,  and  with  that  expression 
half  of  disgust,  half  of  dreaminess,  he  let  them  glide  -into  the 
river. 

The  street  lamps  illuminated  the  inky  water  for  a  short 
distance,  and  he  saw  the  bank  notes  drift  away. 

And  he  smiled  and  went  on. 

xv 

When  he  reached  the  hotel  he  felt  an  urgent  need  of  warmth. 
By  turns  he  entered  the  library,  the  reception  hall,  the  dining- 
room.  All  these  places  were  well  heated,  but  their  warmth  did 
not  suffice  him.  He  attributed  his  chill  to  walking  so  long 
in  the  damp. 

He  took  the  lift  and  rode  up  to  his  own  rooms.  He  changed 
his  clothes,  wrapped  himself  warmly,  and  sat  down  beside  the 
radiator,  in  which  the  steam  hissed  like  a  caged  animal. 

Yet  he  did  not  grow  warm.  At  last  he  knew  that  his 
shivering  was  not  due  to  the  moisture  and  the  fog,  but  to  some 
inner  cause. 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  351 

Toward  eleven  o'clock  he  arose  and  went  out  into  the  cor- 
ridor. The  stuccoed  walls  were  divided  into  great  squares  by 
gilt  moulding;  the  floor  was  covered  by  pieces  of  carpet  that 
had  been  joined  together  to  appear  continuous.  Christian  felt 
a  revulsion  against  all  this  false  splendour.  He  approached  the 
wall,  touched  the  stucco,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  con- 
tempt. 

At  the  end  of  the  long  corridor  was  Eva's  suite.  He  had 
passed  the  door  several  times.  As  he  passed  it  again  he  heard 
the  sound  of  a  piano.  Only  a  few  keys  were  being  gently 
touched.  After  a  moment's  reflection  he  knocked,  opened  the 
door,  and  entered. 

Susan  Rappard  was  alone  in  the  room.  Wrapped  in  a  fur 
coat,  she  sat  at  the  piano.  On  the  music  rack  was  propped 
a  book  that  she  was  reading.  Her  fingers  passed  with  ghostly 
swiftness  over  the  keys,  but  she  struck  one  only  quite  rarely. 
She  turned  her  head  and  asked  rudely:  "What  do  you  want, 
Monsieur?  " 

Christian  answered:  "  If  it's  possible,  I  should  like  to  speak 
to  Madame.  I  want  to  ask  her  a  question." 

"  Now?     At  night?  "  Susan  was  amazed.     "  We're  tired. 
We're  always  tired  at  night  in  this  hyperborean  climate,  where 
the  sun  is  a  legend.    The  fog  weighs  on  us.    Thank  God,  in    , 
four  days  we  have  our  last  performance.    Then  we'll  go  where 
the  sky  is  blue.     We're  longing  for  Paris." 

"  I  should  be  very  happy  if  I  could  see  Madame,"  Christian 
said. 

Susan  shook  her  head.  "  You  have  a  strange  kind  of  pa- 
tience," she  said  maliciously.  "  I  hadn't  suspected  you  of  being 
so  romantic.  You're  pursuing  a  very  foolish  policy,  I  assure 
you.  Go  in,  if  you  want  to,  however.  Ce  petit  laideron  est  chez 
elle,  demoiselle  Schontag.  She  acts  the  part  of  a  court  fool. 
Everything  in  the  world  is  amusing  to  her — herself  not  least. 
Well,  that  is  coming  to  an  end  too." 

Voices  and  clear  laughter  could  be  heard.     The  door  of 


352  THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Eva's  rooms  opened,  and  she  and  Johanna  appeared  on  the 
threshold.  Eva  wore  a  simple  white  garment,  unadorned  but 
for  one  great  chrysoprase  that  held  it  on  the  left  shoulder. 
Her  skin  had  an  amber  gleam,  the  quiver  of  her  nostrils  be- 
trayed a  secret  irritation.  The  beautiful  woman  and  the  plain 
one  stood  there  side  by  side,  each  with  an  acute  feminine  con- 
sciousness of  her  precise  qualities:  the  one  vital,  alluring,  puls- 
ing with  distinction  and  freedom;  the  other  all  adoration  and 
yearning  ambition  for  that  vitality  and  that  freedom. 

Tenderly  and  delicately  Johanna  had  put  her  arm  about  Eva 
and  touched  her  friend's  bare  shoulder  with  her  cheek.  With 
her  bizarre  smile  she  said-:  "  No  one  knows  how  it  came  that 
Rumpelstilzkin  is  my  name." 

They  had  not  yet  observed  Christian.  A  gesture  of  Susan's 
called  their  attention  to  him.  He  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the 
door.  Johanna  turned  pale,  and  her  shy  glance  passed  from 
Eva  to  Christian.  She  released  Eva,  bowed  swiftly  to  kiss 
Eva's  hand,  and  with  a  whispered  good-night  slipped  past 
Christian. 

Although  Christian's  eyes  were  cast  down,  they  grasped  the 
vision  of  Eva  wholly.  He  saw  the  feet  that  he  had  once  held 
naked  in  his  hands;  under  her  diaphanous  garment  he  saw 
the  exquisite  firmness  of  her  little  breasts;  he  saw  the  arms 
that  had  once  embraced  him  and  the  perfect  hands  that  had 
once  caressed  him.  All  his  bodily  being  was  still  vibrantly 
conscious  of  the  smoothness  and  delicacy  of  their  touch.  And 
he  saw  her  before  him,  quite  near  and  hopelessly  unattainable, 
and  felt  a  last  lure  and  an  ultimate  renunciation. 

"  Monsieur  has  a  request,"  said  Susan  Rappard  mockingly, 
and  preparing  to  leave  them. 

"  Stay!  "  Eva  commanded,  and  the  look  she  gave  Christian 
was  like  that  she  gave  a  lackey. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you,"  Christian  said  softly,  "  what  is  the 
meaning  of  the  name  Eidolon  by  which  you  used  to  call  me. 
My  question  is  belated,  I  know,  and  it  may  seem  foolish  to- 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  353 

day."  He  smiled  an  embarrassed  smile.  "  But  it  torments  me 
not  to  know  when  I  think  about  it,  and  I  determined  to  ask 
you." 

Susan  gave  a  soundless  laugh.  In  its  belated  and  unmotivated 
urgency,  the  question  did,  indeed,  sound  a  little  foolish.  Eva 
seemed  amused  too,  but  she  concealed  the  fact.  She  looked 
at  her  hands  and  said:  "  It  is  hard  to  tell  you  what  it  means 
— something  that  one  sacrifices,  or  a  god  to  whom  one  sacrifices, 
a  lovely  and  serene  spirit.  It  means  either  or  perhaps  both  at 
once.  Why  remind  ourselves  of  it?  There  is  no  Eidolon  any 
more.  Eidolon  was  shattered,  and  one  should  not  exhibit  the 
shards  to  me.  Shards  are  ugly  things." 

She  shivered  a  little,  and  her  eyes  shone.  She  turned  to 
Susan.  "  Let  me  sleep  to-morrow  till  I  wake.  I  have  such 
evil  dreams  nowadays,  and  find  no  rest  till  toward  morning." 

XVI 

Passing  back  through  the  corridor  Christian  saw  a  figure 
standing  very  still  in  the  semi-darkness.  He  recognized 
Johanna,  and  he  felt  that  this  thing  was  fated — that  she  should 
be  standing  here  and  waiting  for  him. 

She  did  not  look  at  him  j  she  looked  at  the  floor.  Not  until 
he  came  quite  close  to  her  did  she  raise  her  eyes,  and  then  she 
looked  timidly  away.  Her  lips  quivered.  A  question  hovered 
on  them.  She  knew  all  that  had  passed  between  Eva  and 
Christian.  That  they  had  once  been  lovers  only  increased  her 
enthusiastic  admiration  for  them  both.  But  what  happened 
between  them  now — her  brief  presence  made  her  sure  of  its 
character — seemed  to  her  both  shameful  and  incomprehensible. 

She  was  imaginative  and  sensitive,  and  loved  those  who  were 
nobly  proud;  and  shq  suffered  when  such  noble  pride  and 
dignity  were  humbled.  Her  whole  heart  was  given  over  to  her 
ideal  of  spiritual  distinction.  Sometimes  she  would  misunder- 
stand her  own  ideal,  and  take  external  forms  and  modes  as 
expressions  of  it.  And  this  division  in  her  soul,  to  which  she 


354          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

•was  not  equal,  sometimes  delivered  her  into  the  power  of  mere 
frivolity.  "  It  is  late,"  she  whispered  timidly.  It  was  not  a 
statement;  it  was  an  attempt  to  save  herself.  Each  time  that 
Christian  had  been  mentioned,  three  things  had  struck  her 
mind:  his  elegance,  his  fine  pride,  his  power  over  all  hearts. 
That  was  the  combination  that  called  to  her  and  stirred  her  and 
filled  her  days  with  longing. 

Thus  she  had  followed  Crammon  in  search  of  the  great  ad- 
venture, although  she  had  said  of  him  but  an  hour  after  she  had 
met  him:  "  He  is  grandiosely  and  grotesquely  comic."  She  had 
followed  him  like  a  slave  to  a  market  of  slaves,  hoping  to  catch 
the  eye  of  the  khalif. 

But  she  had  no  faith  in  her  own  power.  Voluntarily  and 
intentionally  she  crumbled  the  passions  of  her  being  into  small 
desires.  She  suffered  from  that  very  process  and  jeered  at 
herself.  She  was  too  timid  to  take  greatly  what  she  wanted. 
She  nibbled  at  life  and  had  not  the  adventurousness  of  great 
enjoyments.  And  she  mocked  at  her  own  unhappy  nature,  and 
suffered  the  more. 

And  now  he  stood  before  her.  It  frightened  and  surprised 
her,  even  though  she  had  waited  for  him.  Since  he  stayed, 
she  wanted  to  think  him  bold  and  brave.  But  she  could  not, 
and  at  once  she  shrank  into  self-contempt.  "  It  is  late,"  she 
whispered  again,  nodded  a  good-night,  and  opened  the  door  of 
her  room. 

But  Christian  begged  silently  with  an  expression  that  was 
irresistible.  He  crossed  the  threshold  behind  the  trembling 
girl.  Her  face  grew  hard.  But  she  was  too  fine  to  play  a 
coquettish  game.  Before  her  blood  was  stirred  her  eyes  had 
yielded.  The  pallor  of  her  face  lit  it  with  a  new  charm.  There 
was  no  hint  of  plainness  any  more.  The  stormy  expectation 
of  her  heart  harmonized  the  lines  of  her  features  and  melted 
them  into  softness,  gentleness,  and  delicacy. 

Of  her  power  over  the  senses  of  men  she  was  secure.  She 
had  tested  her  magnetism  on  those  whom  one  granted  little 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  '355 

and  who  gave  less.  Flirtations  had  been  used  as  anodynes  in 
her  social  group.  One  had  played  with  false  counters,  and  by  a 
silent  compact  avoided  serious  moments.  But  her  experience 
failed  her  to-night,  for  here  there  was  not  lightness  but  aus- 
terity. She  yielded  herself  to  this  night,  oblivious  of  the 
future  and  its  responsibilities.  r 

XVII 

Stephen  Gunderam  had  to  go  to  Montevideo.  In  that  city 
there  was  a  German  physician  who  had  considerable  skill  in  the 
treatment  of  nervous  disorders;  and  the  bull-necked  giant  suf- 
fered from  insomnia  and  nocturnal  hallucinations.  Further- 
more, there  was  to  be  a  yacht  race  at  Montevideo,  on  the  re- 
sults of  which  Stephen  had  bet  heavily. 

He  appointed  Demetrios  and  Esmeralda  as  Letitia's  guard- 
ians. He  said  to  them:  "  If  anything  happens  to  my  wife  or 
she  does  anything  unseemly,  I'll  break  every  bone  in  your 
bodies."  Demetrios  grinned.  Esmeralda  demanded  that  he 
bring  her  a  box  of  sweets  on  his  return. 

Their  leave-taking  was  touching.  Stephen  bit  Letitia's  ear, 
and  said:  "  Be  true  to  me." 

Letitia  immediately  began  to  play  upon  the  mood  of  her 
guardians.  She  gave  Demetrios  a  hundred  pesos  and  Esmer- 
alda a  gold  bracelet.  She  corresponded  secretly  with  the  naval 
lieutenant,  Friedrich  Pestel.  An  Indian  lad,  of  whose  secrecy 
and  reliability  she  was  sure,  served  as  messenger.  Within  a 
week  Pestel's  ship  was  to  proceed  to  Cape  Town,  so  there  was 
little  time  to  be  lost.  He  did  not  think  he  would  be  able  to 
return  to  the  Argentine  until  the  following  winter.  And  Letitia 
loved  him  dearly. 

Two  miles  from  the  estate  there  was  an  observatory  in  the 
lonely  pampas.  A  wealthy  German  cattle-man  had  built  it, 
and  now  a  German  professor  with  his  two  assistants  lived  there 
and  watched  the  firmament.  Letitia  had  often  asked  to  see  the 
observatory,  but  Stephen  had  always  refused  to  let  her  visit 


356          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

it.  Now  she  intended  to  make  it  the  scene  of  her  meeting  with 
Friedrich  Pestel.  She  yearned  for  a  long  talk  with  him. 

To  use  an  observatory  as  a  refuge  for  forlorn  lovers — it  was 
a  notion  that  delighted  Letitia  and  made  her  ready  to  run  any 
risk.  The  day  and  the  hour  were  set,  and  all  circumstances 
were  favourable.  Riccardo  and  Paolo  had  gone  hunting; 
Demetrios  had  been  sent  by  his  father  to  a  farm  far  to  the 
north;  the  old  people  slept.  Esmeralda  alone  had  to  be  de- 
ceived. Fortunately  the  girl  had  a  headache,  and  Letitia 
persuaded  her  to  go  to  bed.  When  twilight  approached,  Letitia 
put  on  a  bright,  airy  frock  in  which  she  could  ride.  She  did 
not  hesitate  in  spite  of  her  pregnancy.  Then,  as  though  taking 
a  harmless  walk,  she  left  the  house  and  proceeded  to  the  avenue 
of  palms,  where  the  Indian  boy  awaited  her  with  two  ponies. 

It  was  beautiful  to  ride  out  freely  into  the  endless  plain. 
In  the  west  there  still  shone  a  reddish  glow,  into  which  pro- 
jected in  lacy  outline  the  chain  of  mountains.  The  earth  suf- 
fered from  drought;  it  had  not  rained  for  long,  and  crooked  fis- 
sures split  the  ground.  Hundreds  of  grasshopper  traps  were 
set  up  in  the  fields,  and  the  pits  behind  them,  which  were  from 
two  to  three  metres  deep,  were  filled  with  the  insects. 

When  she  reached  the  observatory,  it  was  dark.  The  build- 
ing was  like  an  oriental  house  of  prayer.  From  a  low  structure 
of  brick  arose  the  might}7  iron  dome,  the  upper  part  of  which 
rotated  on  a  movable  axis.  The  shutters  of  the  windows  were 
closed,  and  there  was  no  light  to  be  seen.  Friedrich  Pestel 
waited  at  the  gate;  he  had  tethered  his  horse  to  a  post.  He 
told  her  that  the  professor  and  his  two  assistants  had  been 
absent  for  a  week.  She  and  he,  he  added,  could  enter  the 
building  nevertheless.  The  caretaker,  an  old,  fever-stricken 
mulatto,  had  given  him  the  key. 

The  Indian  boy  lit  the  lantern  that  he  had  carried  tied  to 
his  saddle.  Pestel  took  it,  and  preceded  Letitia  through  a 
desolate  brick  hallway,  then  up  a  wooden  and  finally  up  a  spiral 
iron  stairway.  "  Fortune  is  kind  to  us,"  he  said.  "  Next  week 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  357 

there's  going  to  be  an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  and  astronomers  are 
arriving  in  Buenos  Ayres  from  Europe.  The  professor  and 
his  assistants  have  gone  to  receive  them." 

Letitia's  heart  beat  very  fast.  In  the  high  vault  of  the 
observatory,  the  little  light  of  the  lantern  made  only  the  faint- 
est impression.  The  great  telescope  was  a  terrifying  shadow; 
the  drawing  instruments  and  the  photographic  apparatus  on  its 
stand  looked  like  the  skeletons  of  animals;  the  charts  on  the 
wall,  with  their  strange  dots  and  lines,  reminded  her  of  black 
magic.  The  whole  room  seemed  to  her  like  the  cave  of  a 
wizard. 

Yet  there  was  a  smile  of  childlike  curiosity  and  satisfaction 
on  Letitia's  lips.  Her  famished  imagination  needed  such  an 
hour  as  this.  She  forgot  Stephen  and  his  jealousy,  the  eternally 
quarrelling  brothers,  the  wicked  old  man,  the  shrewish  Dona 
Barbara,  the  treacherous  Esmeralda,  the  house  in  which  she 
lived  like  a  prisoner — she  forgot  all  that  completely  in  this 
room  with  its  magic  implements,  in  this  darkness  lit  only  by  the 
dim  flicker  of  the  lantern,  beside  this  charming  young  man  who 
would  soon  kiss  her.  At  least,  she  hoped  he  would. 

But  Pestel  was  timid.  He  went  up  to  the  telescope,  un- 
screwed the  gleaming  brass  cover,  and  said:  "  Let  us  take  a 
look  at  the  stars."  He  looked  in.  Then  he  asked  Letitia  to  do 
the  same.  Letitia  saw  a  milky  mist  and  flashing,  leaping  fires. 
"  Are  those  the  stars?  "  she  asked,  with  a  coquettish  melan- 
choly in  her  voice. 

Then  Pestel  told  her  about  the  stars.  She  listened  with 
radiant  eyes,  although  it  didn't  in  the  least  interest  her  to 
know  how  many  millions  of  miles  distant  from  the  earth  either 
Sirius  or  Aldebaran  happened  to  be,  and  what  precisely  was 
the  mystery  which  puzzled  scientists  in  regard  to  the  southern 
heavens. 

"  Ah,"  she  breathed,  and  there  was  indulgence  and  a  dreamy 
scepticism  in  that  sound. 

The  lieutenant,  abandoning  the  cosmos  and  its  infinities, 


358          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

talked  about  himself  and  his  life,  of  Letitia  and  of  the  im- 
pression she  had  made  on  him,  and  of  the  fact  that  he  thought 
only  of  her  by  day  and  by  night. 

Letitia  remained  very,  very  still  in  order  not  to  turn  his 
thoughts  in  another  direction  and  thus  disturb  the  sweet  sus- 
pense of  her  mood. 

As  befitted  a  man  with  a  highly  developed  conscience,  Pestel 
had  definitely  laid  his  plans  for  the  future.  When  he  re- 
turned at  the  end  of  six  months,  ways  and  means  were  to  be 
found  for  Letitia's  divorce  from  Stephen  and  her  remarriage  to 
him.  He  thought  of  flight  only  as  an  extreme  measure. 

He  told  her  that  he  was  poor.  Only  a  very  small  capital  was 
deposited  in  his  name  in  Stuttgart.  He  was  a  Suabian — simple- 
hearted,  sober,  and  accurate. 

"Ah,"  Letitia  sighed  again,  half-astonished  and  half-sad- 
dened. "  It  doesn't  matter,"  she  said  with  determination.  "  I'm 
rich.  I  own  a  great  tract  of  forest  land.  My  aunt,  the 
Countess  Brainitz,  gave  it  to  me  as  a  wedding  present." 

"  A  forest?    Where?  "  Pestel  asked,  and  smiled. 

"  In  Germany.  Near  Heiligenkreuz  in  the  Rhon  region. 
It's  as  big  as  a  city,  and  when  it's  sold  it  will  bring  a  lot  of 
money.  I've  never  been  there,  but  I've  been  told  that  it  con- 
tains large  deposits  of  some  ore.  That  would  have  to  be  found 
and  exploited.  Then  I'd  be  even  richer  than  if  I  sold  the 
forest."  These  facts  had  grown  in  Letitia's  imagination;  they 
were  the  children  of  the  dreams  and  wishes  she  had  harboured 
since  her  slavery  in  this  strange  land.  She  was  not  lying;  she 
had  quite  forgotten  that  she  had  invented  it  all.  She  wished 
this  thing  to  be  so,  and  it  had  taken  on  reality  in  her  mind. 

"  It's  too  good,  altogether  too  good  to  be  true,"  Pestel  com- 
mented thoughtfully. 

His  words  moved  Letitia.  She  began  to  sob  and  threw  her- 
self on  his  breast.  Her  young  life  seemed  hard  to  her  and  ugly 
and  surrounded  by  dangers.  Nothing  she  had  hoped  for  had 
become  reality.  All  her  pretty  soap-bubbles  had  burst  in  the 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  359 

wind.  Her  tears  sprang  from  her  deep  realization  of  this  fact 
and  out  of  her  fear  of  men  and  of  her  fate.  She  yearned  for 
a  pair  of  strong  arms  to  give  her  protection  and  security. 

Pestel  was  also  moved.  He  put  his  arms  about  her  and  ven- 
tured to  kiss  her  forehead.  She  sobbed  more  pitifully,  and  so 
he  kissed  her  mouth.  Then  she  smiled.  He  said  that  he 
would  love  her  until  he  died,  that  no  woman  had  ever  inspired 
such  feelings  in  him. 

She  confessed  to  him  that  she  was  with  child  by  the  unloved 
husband  to  whom  she  was  chained.  Pestel  pressed  her  to  his 
bosom,  and  said:  "  The  child  is  blood  of  your  blood,  and  I 
shall  regard  it  as  my  own." 

The  time  was  speeding  dangerously.  Holding  each  other's 
hands  they  went  down  the  stairs.  They  parted  with  the 
promise  to  write  each  other  daily. 

"  When  he  returns  from  Africa  I'll  flee  with  him  on  his 
ship,"  Letitia  determined,  as  she  rode  home  slowly  across  the 
dark  plain.  Everything  else  seemed  ugly  and  a  bore  to  her. 
"  Oh,  if  only  it  were  to  be  soon,"  she  thought  in  her  anxiety 
and  heart-ache.  And  curiosity  stirred  in  her  to  know  how 
Pestel  would  behave  and  master  the  dangers  and  the  difficulties 
involved.  She  believed  in  him,  and  gave  herself  up  to  tender 
and  tempting  dreams  of  the  future. 

In  the  house  her  absence  had  finally  been  noticed,  and 
servants  had  been  sent  out  to  look  for  her.  She  slipped  into 
the  house  by  obscure  paths,  and  then  emerged  from  her  room 
with  an  air  of  innocence. 

XVIII 

Stettner  had  returned  to  Hamburg.  His  ship  was  to  sail  on 
that  very  evening.  He  had  several  errands  in  the  city,  and 
Christian  and  Crammon  waited  for  him  in  order  to  accompany 
him  to  the  pier. 

Crammon  said:  "  A  captain  of  Hussars  who  suddenly  turns 
up  in  mufti — I  can't  help  it,  there's  something  desperate  about 


36o         THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

it  to  me.  I  feel  as  though  I  were  on  a  perpetual  visit  of  con- 
dolence. After  all,  he's  declasse,  and  I  don't  like  people  in  that 
situation.  Social  classes  are  a  divine  institution;  a  man  who 
interferes  with  them  wounds  his  own  character.  One  doesn't 
throw  up  one's  profession  the  way  one  tosses  aside  a  rotten 
apple.  These  are  delicate  and  difficult  matters.  Common 
sense  may  disregard  them;  the  higher  intelligence  reverences 
them.  What  is  he  going  to  do  among  the  Yankees?  What 
good  can  come  of  it?  " 

"  He's  a  chemist  by  inclination,  and  scholarly  in  his  line," 
Christian  answered.  "  That  will  help." 

"  What  do  the  Yankees  care  about  that?  He's  more  likely  to 
catch  consumption  and  be  trodden  under.  He'll  be  stripped  of 
pride  and  dignity  It's  a  country  for  thieves,  waiters,  and 
renegades.  Did  he  have  to  go  as  far  as  all  this?  " 

"  Yes,"  Christian  answered,  "  I  believe  he  did." 

An  hour  later  they  and  Stettner  arrived  at  the  harbqur. 
Cargoes  and  luggage  were  still  being  stowed,  and  they  strolled, 
Stettner  between  Crammon  and  Christian,  up  and  down  a  nar- 
row alley  lined  with  cotton-bales,  boxes,  barrels,  and  baskets. 
The  arc  lamps  cast  radiant  light  from  the  tall  masts,  and  a 
tumult  of  carts  and  cranes,  motors  and  bells,  criers  and  whistles 
rolled  through  the  fog.  The  asphalt  was  wet;  there  was  no 
sky  to  be  seen. 

"  Don't  forget  me  wholly  here  in  the  old  land,"  said  Stettner. 
A  silence  followed. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  we  shall  be  as  well  off  in  the  old 
country  in  the  future  as  we  have  been  in  the  past,"  said  Cram- 
mon, who  occasionally  had  pessimistic  attacks  and  forebod- 
ings. "  Hitherto  we  haven't  suffered.  Our  larders  and  cellars 
have  been  well-stocked,  nor  have  the  higher  needs  been  neg- 
lected. But  times  are  getting  worse,  and,  unless  I  mistake, 
clouds  are  gathering  on  the  political  horizon.  So  I  can't  call  it 
a  bad  idea,  my  dear  Stettner,  to  slip  away  quietly  and  amiably. 
I  only  hope  that  you'll  find  some  secure  position  over  there 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  361 

from  which  you  may  calmly  watch  the  spectacle  of  our  de- 
bacle. And  when  the  waves  rise  very  high,  you  might  think 
of  us  and  have  a  mass  said  for  us,  that  is  for  me,  because 
Christian  has  been  expelled  from  the  bosom  of  Holy 
Church." 

Stettner  smiled  at  this  speech.  But  he  became  serious  again 
at  once.  "  It  seems  to  me  too  that,  in  a  sense,  we're  all  trapped 
here.  Yet  I  have  never  felt  myself  so  deeply  and  devotedly  a 
German  as  at  this  moment  when  I  am  probably  leaving  my 
fatherland  forever.  But  in  that  feeling  there  is  a  stab  of  pain. 
It  seems  to  me  as  though  I  should  hurry  from  one  to  another 
and  sound  a  warning.  But  what  to  warn  them  of,  or  why  warn 
them  at  all — I  don't  know." 

Crammon  answered  weightily.  "  My  dear  old  Aglaia  wrote 
me  the  other  day  that  she  had  dreamed  of  black  cats  all  night 
long.  She  is  deep,  she  has  a  prophetic  soul,  and  dreams  like 
that  are  of  evil  presage.  I  may  enter  a  monastery.  It  is 
actually  within  the  realm  of  the  possible.  Don't  laugh,  Chris- 
tian; don't  laugh,  my  dearest  boy!  You  don't  know  all  my 
possibilities." 

It  had  not  occurred  to  Christian  to  laugh. 

Stettner  stopped  and  gave  his  hands  to  his  friends.  "  Good- 
bye, Crammon,"  he  said  cordially.  "  I'm  grateful  that  you 
accompanied  me.  Good-bye,  dear  Christian,  good-bye."  He 
pressed  Christian's  hand  long  and  firmly.  Then  he  tore  himself 
away,  hastened  toward  the  gang-plank,  and  was  lost  in  the 
crowd. 

"  A  nice  fellow,"  Crammon  murmured.  "  A  very  nice  fellow. 
What  a  pity!  " 

When  the  car  met  them  Christian  said:  "  I'd  like  to  walk  a 
bit,  either  back  to  the  hotel  or  somewhere  else.  Will  you 
come,  Bernard?  " 

"  If  you  want  me,  yes.    Toddling  along  is  my  portion." 

Christian  dismissed  his  car.  He  had  a  strange  foreboding,  as 
though  something  fateful  were  lying  in  wait  for  him. 


362          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

"  Ariel's  days  here  are  numbered,"  said  Crammon.  "  Duty 
calls  me  away.  I  must  look  after  my  two  old  ladies.  Then  I 
must  join  Franz  Lothar  in  Styria.  We'll  hunt  heath-cocks. 
After  that  I've  agreed  to  meet  young  Sinsheim  in  St.  Moritz. 
What  are  your  plans,  my  dear  boy?  " 

"  I  leave  for  Berlin  to-morrow  or  the  day  after." 

"  And  what  in  God's  name  are  you  going  to  do  there?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  work." 

Crammon  stopped,  and  opened  his  mouth  very  wide. 
"  Work?  "  he  gasped,  quite  beside  himself.  "  What  at?  What 
for,  O  misguided  one?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  take  courses  at  the  university,  under  the 
faculty  of  medicine." 

Horrified,  Crammon  shook  his  head.  "  Work  .  .  . 
courses  .  .  .  medicine  .  .  .  Merciful  Providence,  what 
does  this  mean?  Is  there  not  enough  sweat  in  the  world,  not 
enough  bungling  and  half-wisdom  and  ugly  ambition  and  use- 
less turmoil?  You're  not  serious." 

"  You  exaggerate  as  usual,  Bernard,"  Christian  answered, 
with  a  smile.  "  Don't  always  be  a  Jeremiah.  What  I'm  going 
to  do  is  something  quite  simple  and  conventional.  And  I'm 
only  going  to  try.  I  may  not  even  succeed;  but  I  must  try 
it.  So  much  is  sure." 

Crammon  raised  his  hand,  lifted  a  warning  index  finger, 
and  said  with  great  solemnity:  "  You  are  upon  an  evil  path, 
Christian,  upon  a  path  of  destruction.  For  many,  many  days 
I  have  had  a  presentiment  of  terrible  things.  The  sleep  of 
my  nights  has  been  embittered;  a  sorrow  gnaws  at  me  and 
my  peace  has  flown.  How  am  I  to  hunt  in  the  mountains  when 
I  know  you  to  be  among  the  Pharisees?  How  shall  I  cast  my 
line  into  clear  streams  when  my  inner  eye  sees  you  bending 
over  greasy  volumes  or  handling  diseased  bodies?  No  wine 
will  glitter  beautifully  in  my  glass,  no  girl's  eyes  seem  friendly 
any  more,  no  pear  yield  me  its  delicate  flavour!  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  will,"  Christian  said,  laughing.    "  More  than 


I 
KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  363 

that:  I  hope  you'll  come  to  see  me  from  time  to  time,  to  con- 
vince yourself  that  you  needn't  cast  me  off  entirely." 

Crammon  sighed.  "  Indeed  I  shall  come.  I  must  come  and 
soon,  else  the  spirit  of  evil  will  get  entire  control  of  you.  Which 
may  God  forbid!  " 

XIX 

Johanna  told  Eva,  whom  she  adored,  about  her  life.  Eva 
thus  received  an  unexpected  insight  into  the  grey  depths  of 
middle-class  existence.  The  account  sounded  repulsive.  But 
it  was  stimulating  to  offer  a  spiritual  refuge  to  so  much  thirst 
and  flight. 

She  herself  often  seemed  to  her  own  soul  like  one  in  flight. 
But  she  had  her  bulwarks.  The  wind  of  time  seemed  cold  to 
her,  and  when  she  felt  a  horror  of  the  busy  marionettes  whose 
strings  were  in  her  hands,  she  felt  herself  growing  harder. 
The  friendship  which  she  gave  to  this  devoted  girl  seemed  to 
her  a  rest  in  the  mad  race  of  her  fate. 

They  were  so  intimate  that  Susan  Rappard  complained. 
The  latter  opened  her  eyes  wide  and  her  jealousy  led  her  to 
become  a  spy.  She  became  aware  of  the  relations  that  had 
developed  between  Johanna  and  Christian. 

At  dinner  there  had  been  much  merriment.  Johanna  had 
bought  a  number  of  peaked,  woollen  caps.  She  had  wrapped 
them  carefully  in  white  paper,  written  some  witty  verses  on 
each  bundle,  and  distributed  them  as  favours  to  Eva's  guests. 
No  one  had  been  vexed.  For  despite  her  mockery  and  gentle 
eccentricity,  there  was  a  charm  about  her  that  disarmed  every 
one. 

"  How  gay  you  are  to-day,  Rumpelstilzkin,"  Eva  said.  She, 
too,  used  that  nickname.  The  word,  which  she  pronounced 
with  some  difficulty,  had  a  peculiar  charm  upon  her  lips. 

"  It  is  the  gaiety  that  precedes  tears,"  Johanna  answered, 
and  yielded  as  entirely  to  her  superstitious  terror  as  she  had 
to  her  jesting  mood. 


364          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

A  wealthy  ship-owner  had  invited  Eva  to  view  his  private 
picture  gallery.  His  house  was  in  the  suburbs.  She  drove 
there  with  Johanna. 

Arm  in  arm  they  stood  before  the  paintings.  And  in  that 
absorbed  union  there  was  something  purifying.  Johanna  loved 
it  as  she  loved  their  common  reading  of  poetry,  when  they 
would  ^sit  with  their  cheeks  almost  touching.  Extinguished  in 
her  selfless  adoration,  she  forgot  what  lay  behind  her — the 
anxious,  sticky,  unworthily  ambitious  life  of  her  family  of 
brokers;  she  forgot  what  lay  before  her — oppression  and  force, 
an  inevitable  and  appointed  way. 

Her  gestures  revealed  a  gentle  glow  of  tenderness. 

On  their  way  back  she  seemed  pale.  "  You  are  cold,"  Eva 
said,  and  wrapped  the  robe  more  firmly  about  her  friend. 

Johanna  squeezed  Eva's  hand  gratefully.  "  How  dear  of 
you!  I  shall  always  need  some  one  to  tell  me  when  I'm  hot 
or  cold." 

This  melancholy  jest  moved  Eva  deeply.  "  Why  do  you  act 
so  humble?  "  she  cried.  "  Why  do  you  shrink  and  hide  and 
turn  your  vision  away  from  yourself?  Why  do  you  not  dare 
to  be  happy?  " 

Johanna  answered:  "  Do  you  not  know  that  I  am  a  Jewess?  " 

"Well?  "  Eva  asked  in  her  turn.  "I  know  some  very  ex- 
traordinary people  who  are  Jews — some  of  the  proudest,  wisest, 
most  impassioned  in  the  world." 

Johanna  shook  her  head.  "  In  the  Middle  Ages  the  Jews 
were  forced  to  wear  yellow  badges  on  their  garments,"  she 
said.  "  I  wear  the  yellow  badge  upon  my  soul." 

Eva  was  putting  on  a  tea  gown.  Susan  Rappard  was  help- 
ing her.  "  What's  new  with  us,  Susan?  "  Eva  asked,  and  took 
the  clasps  out  of  her  hair. 

Susan  answered:  "What  is  good  is  not  new,  and  what  is 
new  is  not  good.  Your  ugly  little  court  fool  is  having  an 
affair  with  M.  Wahnschaffe.  They  are  very  secretive,  but  there 
are  whispers.  I  don't  understand  him.  He  is  easily  and 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  365 

Quickly  consoled.  I  have  always  said  that  he  has  neither 
a  mind  nor  a  heart.  Now  it  is  plain  that  he  has  no  eyes 
either." 

Eva  had  flushed  very  dark.  Now  she  became  very  pale. 
"  It  is  a  lie,"  she  said. 

Susan's  voice  was  quite  dry.  "  It  is  the  truth.  Ask  her.  I 
don't  think  she'll  deny  it." 

Shortly  thereafter  Johanna  slipped  into  the  room.  She  had 
on  a  dress  of  simple,  black  velvet  which  set  off  her  figure 
charmingly.  Eva  sat  before  the  mirror.  Susan  was  arranging 
her  hair.  She  had  a  book  in  her  hand  and  read  without  looking 
up. 

On  a  chair  near  the  dressing-table  lay  an  open  jewel  case. 
Johanna  stood  before  it,  smiled  timidly,  and  took  out  of  it  a 
beautifully  cut  cameo,  which  she  playfully  fastened  to  her 
bosom;  she  looked  admiringly  at  a  diadem  and  put  it  in  her 
hair;  she  slipped  on  a  few  rings  and  a  pearl  bracelet  over  her 
sleeve.  Thus  adorned  she  went,  half  hesitatingly,  half  with  an 
air  of  self-mockery,  up  to  Eva. 

Slowly  Eva  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  book,  looked  at  Johanna, 
and  asked:  "  Is  it  true?  "  She  let  a  few  seconds  pass,  and 
then  with  wider  open  eyes  she  asked  once  more:  "  Is  it 
true?  " 

Johanna  drew  back,  and  the  colour  left  her  cheeks.  She 
suspected  and  knew  and  began  to  tremble. 

Then  Eva  arose  and  went  close  up  to  her  and  stripped  the 
cameo  from  the  girl's  bosom,  the  diadem  from  her  hair,  the 
rings  from  her  fingers,  the  bracelet  from  her  arm,  and  threw 
the  things  back  into  the  case.  Then  she  sat  down  again,  took 
up  her  book,  and  said:  "Hurry,  Susan!  I  want  to  rest  a 
little." 

Johanna's  breath  failed  her.  She  looked  like  one  who  has 
been  struck.  A  tender  blossom  in  her  heart  was  crushed  for- 
ever, and  from  its  sudden  withering  arose  a  subtle  miasma. 
Almost  on  the  point  of  fainting  she  left  the  room. 


366          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

As  though  to  seal  the  end  of  a  period  in  her  life  and  warn 
her  of  evil  things  to  come,  she  received  within  two  hours  a  tele- 
gram from  her  mother  which  informed  her  of  a  catastrophe 
and  urgently  summoned  her  home.  Fraulein  Grabmeier  began 
packing  at  once.  They  were  to  catch  the  train  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning. 

From  midnight  on  Johanna  sat  waiting  in  Christian's  room. 
She  lit  no  light.  In  the  darkness  she  sat  beside  a  table,  resting 
her  head  in  her  hands.  She  did  not  move,  and  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  vacancy. 

xx 

In  the  course  of  their  talk  Christian  and  Crammon  had 
wandered  farther  and  farther  into  the  .tangled  alleys  around  the 
harbour.  "  Let  us  turn  back  and  seek  a  way  out,"  Crammon 
suggested.  "  It  isn't  very  nice  here.  A  damnable  neighbour- 
hood, in  fact." 

He  peered  about,  and  Christian  too  looked  around.  When 
they  had  gone  a  few  steps  farther,  they  came  upon  a  man  lying 
flat  on  his  belly  on  the  pavement.  He  struggled  convulsively, 
croaked  obscene  curses,  and  shook  his  fist  threateningly  toward 
a  red-curtained,  brightly  lit  door. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  a  second  man  flew  out.  A 
paper  box,  an  umbrella,  and  a  derby  hat  were  pitched  out  after 
him.  He  stumbled  down  the  steps  with  outstretched  arms, 
fell  beside  the  first  man,  and  remained  sitting  there  with  heavy 
eyes. 

Christian  and  Crammon  looked  in  through  the  open  door. 
In  the  smoky  light  twenty  or  thirty  people  were  crouching. 
The  monotonous  crying  of  a  woman  became  audible.  At  times 
it  became  shriller. 

The  glass  door  was  flung  shut. 

I  shall  see  what  goes  on  in  there,"  said  Christian,  and 
mounted  the  steps  to  the  door.  Crammon  had  only  time  to 
utter  a  horrified  warning.  But  he  followed.  The  reek  of 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  367 

cheap  whiskey  struck  him  as  he  entered  the  room  behind 
Christian. 

Beside  tables  and  on  the  floor  crouched  men  and  women. 

f 

In  every  corner  lay  people,  sleeping  or  drunk.  The  eyes  which 
were  turned  toward  the  newcomers  were  glassy.  The  faces 
here  looked  like  lumps  of  earth.  The  room,  with  its  dirty 
tables,  glasses,  and  bottles  had  a  colour-scheme  of  scarlet  and 
yellow.  Two  sturdy  fellows  stood  behind  the  bar. 

The  woman  whose  crying  had  penetrated  to  the  street  sat 
on  a  bench  beside  the  wall.  Blood  was  streaming  down  her 
face,  and  she  continued  to  utter  her  monotonous  and  almost 
bestial  whine.  In  front  of  her,  trying  hard  to  keep  erect  on 
legs  stretched  far  apart,  stood  the  huge  fellow  whom  Christian 
had  observed  at  the  public  funeral  of  the  murdered  harlot. 
In  a  hoarse  voice,  in  the  extreme  jargon  of  the  Berlin  populace, 
he  was  shouting:  "  Yuh  gonna  git  what's  comin'  to  yuh!  I'll 
show  yuh  what's  what!  I'll  blow  off  yer  dam'  head-piece'n 
yuh  cin  go  fetch  it  in  the  moon!  " 

On  the  threshold  of  an  open  door  in  the  rear  stood  a  stout 
man  with  innumerable  watch-charms  dangling  across  his 
checked  waistcoat.  A  fat  cigar  was  held  between  his  yellow 
teeth.  He  regarded  the  scene  with  a  superior  calm.  It  was  the 
proprietor  of  the  place.  When  he  saw  the  two  strangers  his 
brows  went  up.  He  first  took  them  to  be  detectives,  and  has- 
tened to  meet  them.  Then  he  saw  his  mistake  and  was  the 
more  amazed.  "  Come  into  my  office,  gentlemen,"  he  said  hi 
a  greasy  voice,  and  without  removing  the  cigar.  "  Come  back 
there,  and  I'll  give  you  a  drink  of  something  good."  He  drew 
Christian  along  by  the  arm.  A  woman  with  a  yeilow  head- 
kerchief  ajose  from  the  floor,  stretched  but  her  arms  toward 
Christian,  and  begged  for  ten  pfennigs.  Christian  drew  back 
as  from  a  worm. 

An  old  man  tried  to  prevent  the  gigantic  lout  from  maltreat- 
ing the  bleeding  woman  any  more.  He  called  him  Mesecke  and 
fawned  upon  him.  But  Mesecke  gave  him  a  blow  under  the 


368          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

chin  that  sent  him  spinning  and  moaning.  Murmurs  of  pro- 
test sounded,  but  no  one  dared  to  offend  the  giant.  The  pro- 
prietor whispered  to  Christian:  "What  he  wants  is  brass; 
wants  her  to  go  on  the  street  again  and  earn  a  little.  Nothing 
to  be  done  right  now." 

He  grasped  Crammon  by  the  sleeve  too,  and  drew  them  both 
through  the  door  into  a  dark  hall.  "  I  suppose  you  gentlemen 
are  interested  in  my  establishment?  "  he  asked  anxiously.  He 
opened  a  door  and  forced  them  to  enter.  The  room  into  which 
they  came  showed  a  tasteless  attempt  at  such  luxury  as  is 
represented  by  red  plush  and  gilt  frames.  The  place  was 
small,  and  the  furniture  stood  huddled  together.  Crossed 
swords  hung  above  a  bunch  of  peacock  feathers,  and  above  the 
swords  the  gay  cap  of  a  student  fraternity.  Between  two  win- 
dows stood  a  slanting  desk  covered  with  ledgers.  An  emaciated 
man  with  a  yellowish  face  sat  at  the  desk  and  made  entries  in 
a  book.  He  quivered  when  the  proprietor  entered  the  room, 
and  bent  more  zealously  over  his  work. 

The  proprietor  said:  "I've  got  to  take  care  of  you  gents 
or  something  might  happen.  When  that  son  of  a  gun  is  quiet 
you  can  go  back  and  look  the  place  over.  I  guess  you're 
strangers  here,  eh?  "  From  a  shelf  he  took  down  a  bottle. 
"  Brandy,"  he  whispered.  "  Prime  stuff.  You  must  try  it. 
I  sell  it  by  the  bottle  and  by  the  case.  A  number  one!  Here 
you  are!  "  Crammon  regarded  Christian,  whose  face  was  with- 
out any  sign  of  disquiet.  With  a  sombre  expression  he  went 
to  the  table  and,  as  though  unseeing,  touched  his  lips  to  the 
glass  which  the  proprietor  had  filled.  It  was  a  momentary 
refuge,  at  all  events. 

In  the  meantime  a  frightful  noise  penetrated  from  the  outer 
room.  "  Fighting  again,"  said  the  proprietor,  listened  for  a 
moment,  and  then  disappeared.  The  noise  increased  furiously 
for  a  moment.  Then  silence  fell.  The  book-keeper,  without 
raising  his  waxy  face,  said:  "  Nobody  can  stand  that.  It's 
that  way  every  night.  And  the  books  here  show  the  profits. 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  369 

That  man  Hillebohm  is  a  millionaire,  and  he  rakes  in  more 
and  more  money  without  mercy,  without  compassion.  Nobody 
can  stand  that."  v 

The  words  sounded  like  those  of  a  madman. 

"  Are  we  going  to  permit  ourselves  to  be  locked  up  here?  " 
Crammon  asked  indignantly.  "  It's  rank  impudence." 

Christian  opened  the  door,  and  Crammon  drew  from  his 
back  pocket  the  Browning  revolver  that  was  his  constant  com- 
panion. They  passed  through  the  hall  and  stopped  on  the 
threshold  of  the  outer  room.  Mesecke  had  vanished.  Many 
arms  had  finally  expelled  him.  The  woman  from  whom  he  had 
been  trying  to  get  money  was  washing  the  blood  from  her 
face.  The  old  man  who  had  been  beaten  when  he  had  pleaded 
for  her  said  consolingly:  "  Don't  yuh  howl,  Karen.  Things'll 
get  better.  Keep  up,  says  I!  "  The  woman  hardly  listened. 
She  looked  treacherous  and  angry. 

A  tangle  of  yellow  hair  flamed  on  her  head,  high  as  a  helmet 
and  unkempt.  While  she  was  bleeding  she  had  wiped  the 
blood  with  her  naked  hand,  and  then  stained  her  hair  with  it. 

"  You  go  home  now,"  the  proprietor  commanded.  "  Wash 
your  paws  and  give  our  regards  to  God  if  you  see  him.  Hurry 
up,  or  your  sweetheart'll  be  back  and  give  you  a  little 
more." 

She  did  not  move.  "  Well,  how  about  it,  Karen,"  a  woman 
shrilled.  "  Hurry.  D'yuh  want  some  more  beating?  " 

But  the  woman  did  not  stir.  She  breathed  heavily,  and 
suddenly  looked  at  Christian. 

"  Come  with  us,"  Christian  said  unexpectedly.  The  bar- 
tenders roared  with  laughter.  Crammon  laid  a  hand  of  des- 
perate warning  on  Christian's  shoulder. 

"  Come  with  us,"  Christian  repeated  calmly.  "  We  will  take 
you  home." 

A  dozen  glassy  eyes  stared  their  mockery.  A  voice  brayed: 
"  Hell,  hell,  but  you're  gettin'  somethin'  elegant."  Another 
hummed  as  though  scanning  verses:  "If  that  don't  kill  the 


370          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

bedbugs  dead,  I  dunno  what'll  do  instead!  Don't  yuh  be 
scared,  Karen.  Hurry!  Use  your  legs!  " 

Karen  got  up.  She  had  not  taken  her  shy  and  sombre  eyes 
from  Christian.  His  beauty  overwhelmed  her.  A  crooked, 
frightened,  cynical  smile  glided  over  her  full  lips. 

She  was  rather  tall.  She  had  fine  shoulders  and  a  well- 
developed  bosom.  She  was  with  child — perhaps  five  months; 
it  was  obvious  when  she  stood.  She  wore  a  dark  green  dress 
with  iridescent  buttons,  and  at  her  neck  a  flaming  red  riband 
fastened  by  a  brooch  that  represented  in  silver,  set  with  garnets, 
a  Venetian  gondola,  and  bore  the  inscription:  Ricordo  di  Vene- 
zla.  Her  shoes  were  clumsy  and  muddy.  Her  hat — made  of 
imitation  kid  and  trimmed  with  cherries  of  rubber — lay  beside 
her  on  the  bench.  She  grasped  it  with  a  strange  ferocity. 

Christian  looked  at  the  riband  and  at  the  silver  brooch  with 
its  inscription:  Ricordo  di  Venezia. 

Crammon  sought  to  protect  their  backs.  For  new  guests 
were  coming  in — fellows  with  dangerous  faces.  He  had  simply 
yielded  to  the  inevitable  and  incomprehensible,  and  determined 
to  give  a  good  account  of  himself.  He  gritted  his  teeth  over  the 
absence  of  proper  police  protection,  and  said  to  himself:  "  We 
won't  get  out  of  this  hole  alive,  old  boy."  And  he  thought  of 
his  comfortable  hotel-bed,  his  delicious,  fragrant  bath,  his  ex- 
cellent breakfast,  and  of  the  box  of  chocolates  on  his  table. 
He  thought  of  young  girls  who  exhaled  the  fresh  sweetness  of 
linen,  of  all  pleasant  fragrances,  of  Ariel's  smile  and  Rumpel- 
stilzkin's  gaiety,  and  of  the  express  train  that  was  to  have 
taken  him  to  Vienna.  He  thought  of  all  these  things  as  though 
his  last  hour  had  come. 

Two  sailors  came  in  dragging  between  them  a  girl  who  was 
pale  and  stiff  with  drunkenness.  Roughly  they  threw  her  on 
the  floor.  The  creature  moaned,  and  had  an  expression  of 
ghastly  voluptuousness,  of  strange  lasciviousness  on  her  face. 
She  lay  there  stiff  as  a  board.  The  sailors,  with  a  challenge  in 
their  voices,  asked  after  Mesecke.  He  had  evidently  met  them 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  371 

and  complained  to  them.  They  wanted  to  get  even  with  the 
proprietor.  One  of  them  had  a  scarlet  scratch  across  his  fore- 
head; the  other's  arms  were  naked  up  to  his  shoulders  and 
tattooed  until  they  were  blue  all  over.  The  tattooing  repre- 
sented a  snake,  a  winged  wheel,  an  anchor,  a  skull,  a  phallus,  a 
scale,  a  fish,  and  many  other  objects. 

Both  sailors  measured  Christian  and  Crammon  with  im- 
pudent glances.  The  one  with  the  tattooed  arms  pointed  to  the 
revolver  in  Crammon's  hand,  and  said:  "  If  you  don't  put  up 
that  there  pistol  I'll  make  you,  by  God!  " 

The  other  went  up  to  Christian  and  stood  so  close  to  him 
that  he  turned  pale.  Vulgarity  had  never  yet  touched  him, 
nor  had  the  obscene  things  of  the  gutter  splashed  his  garments. 
Contempt  and  disgust  arose  hotly  in  him.  These  might  force 
him  to  abandon  his  new  road ;  for  they  were  more  terrible  than 
the  vision  of  evil  he  had  had  in  the  house  of  Szilaghin. 

But  when  he  looked  into  the  man's  eyes,  he  became  aware 
of  the  fact  that  the  latter  could  not  endure  his  glance.  Those 
eyes  twitched  and  flickered  and  fled.  And  this  perception  gave 
Christian  courage  and  a  feeling  of  inner  power,  the  full  effec- 
tiveness of  which  was  still  uncertain. 

"  Quiet  there!  "  the  proprietor  roared  at  the  two  sailors. 
"  I  want  order.  You  want  to  get  the  police  here,  do  you? 
That'd  be  fine  for  us  all,  eh?  You're  a  bit  crazy,  eh?  The 
girl  can  go  with  the  gentlemen,  if  they'll  pay  her  score.  Two 
glasses  champagne — that's  one  mark  fifty.  And  that  ends  it." 

Crammon  laid  a  two-mark  piece  on  the  table.  Karen  Engel- 
schall  had  put  on  her  hat,  and  turned  toward  the  door.  Chris- 
tian and  Crammon  followed  her,  and  the  proprietor  followed 
them  with  sarcastic  courtesy,  while  the  two  sturdy  bar-tenders 
formed  an  additional  bodyguard.  A  few  half-drunken  men 
sent  the  strains  of  a  jeering  song  behind  them. 

The  street  was  empty.  Karen  gazed  up  and  down  it,  and 
seemed  uncertain  in  which  direction  she  should  go.  Crammon 
asked  her  where  she  lived.  She  answered  harshly  that  she 


372          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

didn't  want  to  go  home.  "  Then  where  shall  we  take  you?  " 
Crammon  asked,  forcing  himself  to  be  patient  and  considerate. 
She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  It  don't  matter,"  she  said. 
Then,  after  a  while,  she  added  defiantly.  "  I  don't  need  you." 

They  went  toward  the  harbour,  Karen  between  the  two  men. 
For  a  moment  she  stopped  and  murmured  with  a  shudder  of 
fear:  "  But  I  mustn't  run  into  him.  No,  I  mustn't." 

"  Will  you  suggest  something  then?  "  Crammon  said  to  her. 
His  impulse  was  simply  to  decamp,  but  for  Christian's  sake, 
and  in  the  hope  of  saving  him  uninjured  from  this  mesh  of 
adventures,  he  played  the  part  of  interest  and  compassion. 

Karen  Engelschall  did  not  answer,  but  hurried  more  swiftly 
as  she  caught  sight  of  a  figure  in  the  light  of  a  street  lamp. 
Until  she  was  beyond  its  vision  she  gasped  with  terror. 

"  Shall  we  give  you  money?  "  Crammon  asked  again. 

She  answered  furiously:  "  I  don't  need  your  money.  I  want 
no  money."  Surreptitiously  she  gazed  at  Christian,  and  her 
face  grew  malicious  and  stubborn. 

Crammon  went  over  beside  Christian,  and  spoke  to  him  in 
French.  "  The  best  thing  would  be  to  take  her  to  an  inn  where 
she  can  get  a  room  and  a  bed.  We  can  deposit  a  sum  of  money 
there,  so  that  she  is  sheltered  for  a  while.  Then  she  can  help 
herself." 

"  Quite  right.  That  will  be  best,"  Christian  replied.  And,  as 
though  he  could  not  bear  to  address  her,  he  added:  "  Tell  her 
that." 

Karen  stopped.  She  lifted  her  shoulders  as  though  she  were 
cold,  and  said  in  a  hoarse  voice:  "  Leave  me  alone.  What  are 
you  two  talking  about?  I  won't  walk  another  step.  I'm  tired. 
Don't  pay  no  attention  to  me!  "  She  leaned  against  the  wall 
of  a  house,  and  her  hat  was  pushed  forward  over  her  forehead. 
She  was  as  sorry  and  dissipated  a  looking 'object  as  one  could 
possibly  imagine. 

"  Isn't  that  the  sign  of  an  inn?  "  Crammon  asked  and  pointed 
to  an  illuminated  sign  at  the  far  end  of  the  street. ' 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  373 

Christian,  who  had  very  keen  eyes,  looked  and  answered: 
"  Yes.  It  says  '  King  of  Greece,'  Do  go  and  inquire." 

"  A  lovely  neighbourhood  and  a  lovely  errand,"  Crammon 
said  plaintively.  "  I  am  paying  for  my  sins."  But  he 
went. 

Christian  remained  with  the  woman,  who  looked  down 
silently  and  angrily.  Her  fingers  scratched  at  her  riband. 
Christian  listened  to  the  beating  of  the  tower-clock.  It  struck 
two.  At  last  Crammon  reappeared.  He  beckoned  from  a  dis- 
tance and  cried:  "  Ready." 

Christian  addressed  the  girl  for  the  first  time.  "  We've  found 
a  shelter  for  you,"  he  said,  a  little  throatily,  and,  quite  con- 
trary to  his  wont,  blinked  his  eyes.  His  own  voice  sounded  dis- 
agreeably in  his  ears.  "  You  can  stay  there  for  some  days." 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  glowed  with  hatred.  An 
indescribable  but  evil  curiosity  burned  in  her  glance.  Then 
she  lowered  her  eyes  again.  Christian  was  forced  to  speak 
again:  "  I  think  you  will  be  safe  from  that  man  there.  Try 
to  rest.  Perhaps  you  are  ill.  We  could  summon  a  physician." 

She  laughed  a  soft?  sarcastic  laugh.  Her  breath  smelt  of 
whiskey. 

Crammon  called  out  again. 

"  Come  on  then,"  Christian  said,  mastering  his  aversion  with 
difficulty. 

His  voice  and  his  words  made  the  same  overwhelming  im- 
pression on  her  that  his  appearance  had  done.  She  started  to 
go  as  though  she  were  being  propelled  from  behind. 

A  sleepy  porter  in  slippers  stood  at  the  door  of  the  inn.  His 
servile  courtesy  proved  that  Crammon  had  known  how  to  treat 
him.  "  Number  14  on  the  second  floor  is  vacant,"  he  said. 

"  Send  some  one  to  your  lodgings  to-morrow  for  your  things," 
Crammon  advised  the  girl. 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  Without  a  word  of  thanks 
or  greeting  she  followed  the  porter  up  the  soiled  red  carpet  of 
the  stairs.  The  rubber  cherries  tapped  audibly  against  the 


374          THE   WORLD'S   ILLUSION 

brim  of  her  hat.    Her  clumsy  form  disappeared  in  the  black- 
ness. 

Crammon  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  My  kingdom  for  a 
four-wheeler,"  he  moaned.  At  a  nearby  corner  they  found  a 
cab. 

XXI 

When  Christian  entered  his  room  and  switched  on  the  electric 
light,  he  was  surprised  to  find  Johanna  sitting  at  the  table. 
She  shaded  her  eyes  from  the  sudden  glare.  He  remained  at 
the  door.  His  frown  disappeared  when  he  saw  the  deadly 
pallor  of  the  girl's  face. 

"  I  must  leave,"  Johanna  breathed.  "  I've  received  a  tele- 
gram and  I  must  start  for  Vienna  at  once." 

"  I  am  about  to  leave,  too,"  Christian  answered. 

For  a  while  there  was  silence.  Then  Johanna  said:  "  Shall  I 
see  you  again?  Will  you  want  me  to?  Dare  I?  "  Her  timid 
questions  showed  the  old  division  of  her  soul.  She  smiled  a 
smile  of  patience  and  renunciation. 

"  I  shall  be  in  Berlin,"  Christian  answered.  "  I  don't  know 
yet  where  I  shall  live.  But  whenever  you  want  to  know,  ask 
Crammon.  He  is  easily  reached.  His  two  old  ladies  send  him 
all  letters." 

"  If  you  desire  it,  I  can  come  to  Berlin,"  Johanna  said  with 
the  same  patient  and  resigned  smile.  "  I  have  relatives  there. 
But  I  don't  think  that  you  do  desire  it."  Then,  after  a  pause, 
during  which  her  gentle  eyes  wandered  aimlessly,  she  said: 
"  Then  is  this  to  be  the  end?  "  She  held  her  breath;  she  was 
taut  as  a  bow-string. 

Christian  went  up  to  the  table  and  rested  the  index  finger 
of  one  hand  on  its  top.  With  lowered  head  he  said  slowly: 
"  Don't  demand  a  decision  of  me.  I  cannot  make  one.  I 
should  hate  to  hurt  you.  I  don't  want  something  to  happen 
again  that  has  happened  so  often  before  in  my  life.  If  you 
feel  impelled  to  come — come!  Don't  consider  me.  Don't  think, 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  375 

above  all,  that  I  would  then  leave  you  in  the  lurch.    But  just 
now  is  a  critical  time  in  my  life.    More  I  cannot  say." 

Johanna  could  gather  nothing  but  what  was  hopeless  for  her- 
self from  these  words.  Yet  through  them  there  sounded  a  note 
that  softened  their  merely  selfish  regretfulness.  With  a  char- 
acteristically pliant  gesture,  she  stretched  out  her  arm  to 
Christian.  Her  pose  was  formal  and  her  smile  faint,  as  she 
said:  "  Then,  au  revoir — perhaps!  " 

XXII 

When  the  girl  had  gone,  Christian  lay  down  on  the  sofa  and 
folded  his  hands  beneath  his  head.  Thus  he  lay  until  dawn. 
He  neither  switched  off  the  light  nor  did  he  close  his  eyes. 

He  saw  the  paintless  stairs  that  led  to  the  den  where  he  had 
been  and  the  red  carpet  of  the  inn  soiled  by  many  feet ;  he  saw 
the  lamp  in  the  desolate  street  and  the  watch  charms  on  the 
proprietor's  waistcoat;  he  saw  the  brandy  bottle  on  the  shelf, 
and  the  green  shawl  of  one  of  the  drunken  women,  and  the 
tattooed  symbols  on  the  sailor's  naked  arm:  the  anchor,  the 
winged  wheel,  the  phallus,  the  fish,  the  snake;  he  saw  the  rub- 
ber cherries  on  the  prostitute's  hat  and  the  silver  brooch  with 
the  garnets  and  the  foolish  motto:  Ricordo  di  Venezia. 

And  more  and  more  as  he  thought  of  these  things  they 
awakened  in  him  an  ever  surer  feeling  of  freedom  and  of 
liberation,  and  seemed  to  release  him  from  other  things  that 
he  had  hitherto  loved,  the  rare  and  precious  things  that  he  had 
loved  so  exclusively  and  fruitlessly.  And  they  seemed  to  re- 
lease him  likewise  from  men  and  women  whose  friendship  or 
love  had  been  sterile  in  the  end. 

As  he  lay  there  and  gazed  into  space,  he  lived  in  these  poor 
and  mean  things,  and  all  fruitless  occupations  and  human  re- 
lationships lost  their  importance;  and  even  the  thought  of  Eva 
ceased  to  torment  him  and  betray  him  into  fruitless  humiliation. 
-  That  radiant  and  regal  creature  allured  him  no  more,  when 
he  thought  of  the  blood-stained  face  of  the  harlot.  For  the 


376          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

latter  aroused  in  him  a  feeling  akin  to  curiosity  that  gradually 
filled  his  soul  so  entirely  that  it  left  room  for  nothing  else. 

Toward  dawn  he  slumbered  for  an  hour.  Then  he  arose, 
and  bathed  his  face  in  cold  water,  left  the  hotel,  hired  a  cab, 
and  drove  to  the  inn  called  "  The  King  of  Greece." 

The  nightwatchman  was  still  at  his  post.  He  recognized  this 
early  guest  and  guided  him  with  disagreeable  eagerness  up 
two  flights  of  stairs  to  the  room  of  Karen  Engelschall. 

Christian  knocked.  There  was  no  answer.  "  You  just  go 
in,  sir,"  said  the  porter.  "  There  ain't  no  key  and  the  latch 
don't  work.  All  kinds  of  things  will  happen,  and  it's  better  for 
us  to  have  the  doors  unlocked." 

Christian  entered.  It  was  a  room  with  ugly  brown  furnish- 
ings, a  dark-red  plush  sofa,  a  round  mirror  with  a  crack  across 
its  middle,  an  electric  bulb  at  the  end  of  a  naked  wire,  and  a 
chromo-lithograph  of  the  emperor.  Everything  was  dusty, 
worn,  shabby,  used-up,  poor  and  mean. 

Karen  Engelschall  lay  in  the  bed  asleep.  She  was  on  her 
back,  and  her  dishevelled  hair  looked  like  a  bundle  of  straw; 
her  face  was  pale  and  a  little  puffy.  Recent  scars  showed  on 
her  forehead  and  right  cheek.  Her  full  but  flaccid  breasts 
protruded  above  the  coverings. 

His  old  and  violent  dislike  of  sleeping  people  stirred  in 
Christian,  but  he  mastered  it  and  regarded  her  face.  He  won- 
dered from  what  social  class  she  had  come,  whether  she  was  a 
sailor's  or  a  fisherman's  daughter,  a  girl  of  the  lower  middle- 
classes,  of  the  proletariat  or  the  peasantry.  Thus  his  curiosity 
employed  his  mind  for  a  while  until  he  became  fully  aware  of 
the  indescribable  perturbation  of  that  face.  It  was  as  void  of 
evil  as  of  good;  but  as  it  lay  there  it  seemed  distraught  by  the 
unheard  of  torment  of  its  dreams.  Then  Christian  thought  of 
the  carnelian  on  Mesecke's  hand,  and  the  repulsively  red  stone 
which  was  like  a  beetle  or  a  piece  of  raw  flesh  became  ex- 
traordinarily vivid  to  him. 

He  made  a  movement  and  knocked  against  a  chair ;  the  noise 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  377 

awakened  Karen  Engelschall.  She  opened  her  lids,  and  fear 
and  horror  burned  in  her  eyes  when  she  observed  a  figure  in 
her  room;  her  features  became  distorted  with  fury,  and  her 
mouth  rounded  itself  for  a  cry.  Then  she  saw  who  the  intruder 
was,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief  slid  back  among  the  pillows.  Her 
face  reassumed  its  expression  of  stubbornness  and  of  enforced 
yielding.  She  watched,  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  this 
visit,  and  seemed  to  wonder  and  reflect.  She  drew  the  covers 
up  under  her  chin,  and  smiled  a  shallow,  flattered  smile. 

Involuntarily  Christian's  eyes  looked  for  the  red  riband  and 
the  silver  brooch.  The  girl's  garments  had  been  flung  pell-mell 
on  a  chair.  The  hat  with  the  rubber  cherries  lay  on  the  table. 

"  Why  do  you  stand?  "  Karen  Engelschall  asked  in  a  cheer- 
ful voice.  "  Sit  down."  Again,  as  in  the  night,  his  splendour 
and  distinction  overwhelmed  her.  Smiling  her  empty  smile,  she 
wondered  whether  he  was  a  baron  or  a  count.  She  had  slept 
soundly  and  felt  refreshed. 

"  You  cannot  stay  in  this  house  very  long,"  Christian  said 
courteously.  "  I  have  considered  what  had  better  be  done  for 
you.  Your  condition  requires  care.  You  must  not  expose 
yourself  to  the  brutality  of  that  man.  It  would  be  best  if  you 
left  the  city." 

Karen  Engelschall  laughed  a  harsh  laugh.  "  Leave  the  city? 
How's  that  going  to  be  done?  Girls  like  me  have  to  stay  where 
they  are." 

"  Has  any  one  a  special  claim  on  you?  "  Christian  asked. 

"  Claim?  Why?  How  do  you  mean?  Oh,  I  see.  No,  no. 
It's  the  way  things  are  in  our  business.  The  feller  to  whom  you 
give  your  money,  he  protects  you,  and  the  others  mind  him. 
If  he's  strong  and  has  many  friends  you're  safe.  They're  all 
rotten,  but  you  got  no  choice.  You  get  no  rest  day  or  night, 
and  your  flesh  gets  tired,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  I  can  imagine  that,"  Christian  replied,  and  for  a  second 
looked  into  Karen's  round  and  lightless  eyes,  "  and  for  that 
reason  I  wanted  to  put  myself  at  your  disposal.  I  shall  leave 


378          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

Hamburg  either  to-day  or  to-morrow,  and  probably  stay  in 
Berlin  for  some  months.  I  am  ready  to  take  you  with  me. 
But  you  must  not  delay  your  decision,  because  I  have  not  yet 
any  address  in  Berlin,  I  don't  know  yet  where  I  shall  live,  and 
if  a  plan  like  this  is  delayed  it  is  usually  not  carried  out  at  all. 
At  the  moment  you  have  eluded  your  pursuer,  and  so  the  op- 
portunity to  escape  is  good.  You  don't  need  to  send  for  your 
things.  I  can  get  you  whatever  you  need  when  we  arrive." 

Those  words,  spoken  with  real  friendliness,  did  not  have  the 
effect  which  Christian  expected.  Karen  Engelschall  could  not 
realize  the  simplicity  and  frankness  of  their  intention.  A  mock- 
ing suspicion  arose  in  her  mind.  She  knew  of  Vice  Crusaders 
and  Preachers  of  Salvation;  and  these  men  her  world  as  a 
rule  fears  as  much  as  it  does  the  emissaries  of  the  police. 
But  she  looked  at  Christian  more  sharply,  and  an  instinct 
told  her  that  she  was  on  the  wrong  track.  Clumsily  consider- 
ing, she  drifted  to  other  suppositions  that  had  a  tinge  of  cheap 
romance.  She  thought  of  plots  and  kidnapping  and  a  possible 
fate  more  terrible  than  that  under  the  heel  of  her  old  tormentor. 
She  brooded  over  these  thoughts  in  haste  and  rage,  with  con- 
vulsed features  and  clenched  fist,  passing  from  fear  to  hope 
and  from  hope  to  distrust,  and  yet,  even  as  on  the  day  before, 
compelled  by  something  irresistible,  a  force  from  which  she 
could  not  withdraw  and  which  made  her  struggles  futile. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do  with  me?  "  she  asked,  and  gave 
him  a  penetrating  glance. 

Christian  considered  in  order  to  weigh  his  answer  carefully. 
"  Nothing  but  what  I  have  told  you." 

She  became  silent  and  stared  at  her  hands.  "  My  mother 
lives  in  Berlin,"  she  murmured.  "  Maybe  you'd  want  me  to 
go  back  to  her.  I  don't  want  to." 

"  You  are  to  go  with  me."  Christian's  tone  was  firm  and 
almost  hard.  His  chest  filled  with  breath  and  exhaled  the 
air  painfully.  The  final  word  had  been  spoken. 

Karen  looked  at  him  again.    But  now  her  eyes  were  serious 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  379 

and  awake  to  reality.  "  And  what  shall  I  do  when  I'm  with 
you?  " 

Christian  answered  hesitatingly:  "  I've  come  to  no  decision 
about  that.  I  must  think  it  over." 

Karen  folded  her  hands.  "  But  I've  got  to  know  who  you 
are." 

He  spoke  his  name. 

"  I  am  a  pregnant  woman,"  she  said  with  a  sombre  look,  and 
for  the  first  time  her  voice  trembled,  "  a  street-walker  who's 
pregnant.  Do  you  know  that?  I'm  the  lowest  and  vilest 
thing  in  the  whole  world!  Do  you  know  that?  " 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Christian,  and  cast  down  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  what  does  a  fine  gentleman  like  you  want  to  do  with 
me?  Why  do  you  take  such  an  interest  in  me?  " 

"  I  can't  explain  that  to  you  at  the  moment,"  Christian 
answered  diffidently. 

"  What  am  I  to  do?    Go  with  you?    Right  away?  " 

"  If  you  are  willing,  I  shall  call  for  you  at  two,  and  we  can 
drive  to  the  station." 

"  And  you  won't  be  ashamed  of  me?  " 

"  No,  I  shall  not  be  ashamed." 

"  You  know  how  I  look?  Suppose  people  point  their  fingers 
at  the  whore  travelling  with  such  an  elegant  gentleman?  " 

"  It  does  not  matter  what  people  do." 

"  All  right.  I'll  wait  for  you."  She  crossed  her  arms  over 
her  breast  and  stared  at  the  ceiling  and  did  not  stir.  Christian 
arose  and  nodded  and  went  out.  Nor  did  Karen  move  when  he 
was  gone.  A  deep  furrow  appeared  on  her  forehead,  the  fresh 
scars  gleamed  like  burns  upon  her  earthy  skin,  a  dull  and 
primitive  amazement  turned  her  eyes  to  stone. 

xxni 

When  -Christian  crossed  the  reception  room  of  the  hotel  he 
saw  Crammon  sitting  sadly  in  a  chair.  Christian  stopped  and 


380          THE   WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

smiled  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  Did  you  sleep  well,  Bernard?  " 
he  asked. 

"  If  that  were  my  only  difficulty  I  should  not  complain," 
Crammon  answered.  "  I  always  sleep  well.  The  troubles  begin 
when  I'm  awake.  Age  with  his  stealing  steps!  The  old  pleas- 
ures no  longer  sting,  the  old  delights  are  worn  out.  One  counts 
on  gratitude  and  affection,  and  gets  care  and  disappointment. 
I  think  a  monastery  would  be  the  best  place  for  me.  I  must 
look  into  that  plan  more  closely." 

Christian  laughed.  "  Come  now,  Bernard,  you  would  be  a 
very  unsuitable  person  in  a  monastery.  Drive  the  black 
thoughts  away  and  let  us  have  breakfast." 

"  All  right,  let  us  have  breakfast."  Crammon  arose.  "  Have 
you  any  idea  why  poor  Rumpelstilzkin  suddenly  fled  by  night? 
She  had  bad  news  from  home,  I  am  told,  but  that's  no  reason 
why  she  should  have  gone  without  a  word.  It  was  not  nice  or 
considerate.  And  in  a  few  hours  Ariel  too  will  be  lost  to  us. 
Her  rooms  are  filled  with  cases  and  boxes,  and  M.  Chinard  is 
bursting  with  self-importance.  Black  clouds  are  over  us,  and 
all  our  lovely  rainbows  fade.  This  caviare,  by  the  way,  is 
excellent.  I  shall  withdraw  into  an  utterly  private  life.  Per- 
haps I  shall  hire  a  secretary,  either  a  man  or  a  fat,  appetizing, 
and  discreet  woman,  and  begin  to  dictate  my  memoirs.  You, 
my  dear  fellow,  seem  in  more  excellent  spirits  than  for  a  long 
time." 

"  Yes,  excellent,"  Christian  said,  and  his  smile  revealed  his 
beautiful  teeth.  "Excellent!  "  he  repeated,  and  held  out  his 
hand  to  his  astonished  friend. 

"  So  you  have  finally  become  reconciled  to  your  loss?  " 
he  winked,  and  pointed  upward  with  a  significant  ges- 
ture. 

Christian  guessed  his  meaning.  "  Entirely,"  he  said  cheerily. 
"  I'm  completely  recovered." 

"  Bravo!  "  said  Crammon,  and,  comfortably  eating,  he  phi- 
losophized: "  It  would  be  saddening  were  it  otherwise.  I  re- 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  381 

peat  what  I  have  often  said:  Ariel  was  born  for  the  stars. 
There  are  blessed  stars  and  fateful  stars.  Some  are  inhabited 
by  good  spirits,  others  by  demons.  We  have  known  that 
from  times  immemorial.  Let  them  wage  their  battles  among 
themselves.  If  it  comes  to  collisions  and  catastrophes,  it  is  a 
cosmic  matter  in  which  we  mortals  have  no  share.  When  all 
is  said  and  done,  you  are  but  a  mortal  too,  though  one  so 
blessed  that  you  were  even  granted  a  stay  in  the  happy  hunt- 
ing grounds  of  the  gods.  But  excesses  are  evil.  You  cannot 
compete  with  Muscovite  autocrats.  Siegfried  can  conquer  the 
dragons  in  the  end;  were  Lucifer  to  attack  him  with  fire- 
breathing  steeds,  the  hero  would  but  risk  his  skin  in  vain. 
Your  renunciation  is  as  wise  as  it  is  delightful.  I  drink  to 
your  pleasant  future,  dearest  boy!  " 

Christian  went  to  a  buffet  where  magnificent  fruit  was  ex- 
posed for  sale.  He  knew  Crammon's  passionate  delight  in  rare 
and  lovely  fruit.  He  selected  a  woven  basket  and  placed  in  the 
middle  a  pine-apple  cut  open  so  that  its  golden  inside  showed. 
He  surrounded  it  with  a  wreath  of  flawless  apples  and  of  great, 
amber-coloured  peaches  from  the  South  of  France.  They  were 
elastic  and  yet  firm.  He  added  seven  enormous  clusters  of 
California  grapes.  He  arranged  the  fruit  artistically,  carried 
the  basket  to  Crammon,  and  presented  it  to  him  with  jesting 
solemnity. 

They  separated.  When,  late  that  afternoon,  Crammon  re- 
turned to  the  hotel,  he  learned  to  his  bitter  amazement  that 
Christian  had  left. 

He  could  not  compose  himself.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
was  the  victim  of  some  secret  cabal.  "  They  all  leave  me  in  the 
lurch,"  he  murmured  angrily  to  himself;  "  they  make  a  mock  of 
me.  It's  like  an  epidemic.  You  are  through  with  life,  Bernard 
Gervasius,  you  are  in  every  one's  way.  Go  to  your  cell  and 
bemoan  your  fate." 

He  ordered  his  valet  to  pack,  and  to  secure  accommodations 
on  the  train  to  Vienna.  Then  he  placed  the  basket  of  fruit  on 


382          THE    WORLD'S    ILLUSION 

the  table,  and  in  his  sad  reflections  plucked  berry  after  berry  of 
the  grape. 

XXIV 

In  his  quiet  little  house,  furnished  in  the  style  of  the  age  of 
Maria  Theresa,  he  forgot  what  he  had  suffered.  He  lived  an 
idyl. 

He  accompanied  the  two  pious  ladies  to  church,  and  out  of 
considerateness  and  kindness  to  them  even  prayed  occasionally. 
His  chief  prayer  was:  Lord,  forgive  those  who  have  trespassed 
against  me  and  lead  me  not  into  temptation.  On  sunny  after- 
noons the  carriage  appeared  and  took  the  three  for  a  ride 
through  the  parks.  In  the  evening  the  bill  of  fare  for  the 
following  day  was  determined  on,  and  the  national  and  tra- 
ditional dishes  were  given  the  preference.  Then  he  read  to  the 
devoutly  attentive  Misses  Aglaia  and  Constantine  classical 
poems:  a  canto  of  Klopstock's  "  Messiah,"  Schiller's  "Walk," 
or  something  by  Riickert.  And  he  still  imitated  the  voice  and 
intonation  of  Edgar  Lorm.  Also  he  related  harmless  anecdotes 
connected  with  his  life;  and  he  adorned  and  purified  them  so 
that  they  would  have  been  worthy  of  a  schoolgirl's  library. 

Not  till  the  two  ladies  had  retired  did  he  light  his  short 
pipe  or  pour  himself  out  a  glass  of  cognac;  he  practised  remi- 
niscence or  introspection,  or  became  absorbed  in  his  little 
museum  of  treasures,  which  he  had  gathered  during  many 
years. 

Shortly  before  his  proposed  meeting  with  Franz  Lothar  von 
Westernach,  he  received  an  alarming  letter  from  Christian's 
mother. 

Frau  Wahnschaffe  informed  him  that  Christian  had  ordered 
all  his  possessions  to  be  sold — Christian's  Rest,  Waldleiningen, 
the  hunting  lodge,  the  stables  and  kennels,  the  motor  cars,  the 
collections,  including  the  wonderful  collection  of  rings.  This 
incomprehensible  plan  was  actually  being  carried  out,  and  no 
one  had  an  inkling  of  the  motive.  She  herself  was  in  the 


KAREN    ENGELSCHALL  383 

utmost  despair,  and  begged  Crammon  for  some  explanation 
and,  if  possible,  to  come  to  the  castle.  She  besought  him  in 
God's  name  for  some  hint  in  regard  to  Christian's  actions  and 
state  of  mind.  No  news  of  her  son  had  reached  her  for  weeks ; 
he  seemed  lost,  and  they  were  groping  in  the  dark.  The  family 
did  not,  of  course,  desire  his  possessions  to  pass  into  the  hands 
of  strangers,  and  would  bid  in  everything,  although  it  was 
both  difficult  and  hateful  to  oppose  the  impudent  offers  and 
the  tricky  manoeuvres  which  the  auction  ordered  by  Christian 
would  entail.  Above  all,  however,  there  was  her  personal 
anxiety  about  Christian.  She  expected  Crammon  to  stand  by 
her  in  her  hour  of  need,  and  justify  the  high  opinion  she  had 
formed  both  of  his  friendship  for  her  son  and  of  his  attachment 
to  her  family. 

Crammon  re-read  the  lines  that  mentioned  the  sale  of 
Christian's  Rest  and  of  the  collections.  He  shook  his  head 
long  and  sadly,  pressed  his  chin  into  his  hands,  and  two  large 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 


END   OF   VOL.   I 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

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